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THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 


1  Paramount  Artcraft  Corporation  Featuring  David  Powell 

A  SCENE  FROM  THE  PHOTOPLAY-THK  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER. 


\ 


BY 

MAURICE  LEBLANC 
/>/ 

TRANSLATED  BY 

ALEXANDER  TEIXEIRA  DE  MATTOS 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH  SCENES  FROM 

THE  PHOTOPLAY— PARAMOUNT  ARTCRAFT 

PICTURE— FEATURING  DAVID  POWELL 


Copyright,  1944,  by 
THE  RIDGWAY  Co. 

Copyright,  191k  by 
MAURICE  LEBLANC 

All  rights  reserved,  including  that  of 

translation  into  foreign  languages, 

including  the  Scandinavian 


CONTENTS 

3KAPTER  PAGE 

I.  D'ARTAGNAN,  PORTHOS     .     .     .  AND  MONTE  CRISTO  3 

II.      A  MAN  DEAD 28 

HI.    A  MAN  DOOMED 53 

IV.    THE  CLOUDED  TURQUOISE 78 

V.    THE  IRON  CURTAIN Ill 

VI.  THE  MAN  WITH  THE  EBONY  WALKING-STICK     .     .     .  134 

VII.    SHAKESPEARE'S  WORKS,  VOLUME  VlJH 159 

VHt.    THE  DEVIL'S  POST-OFFICE 183 

IX.    LUPIN'S  ANGER 202 

X.    GASTON  SAUVERAND  EXPLAINS 222 

XI.    ROUTED 248 

xn.  "HELP!" 205 

Xm.    THE  EXPLOSION 284 

XIV.    THE  "HATER" 306 

XV.  THE  HEIR  TO  THE  HUNDRED  MILLIONS      ....  332 

XVI.    WEBER  TAKES  His  REVENGE 359 

XVn.    OPEN  SESAME! 384 

XVUI.    ARSENE  I  EMPEROR  OF  MAURETANIA 463 

XIX.  "THE  SNARE  Is  LAID.    BEWARE,  LUPIN!"  ....  422 

XX.    FLORENCE'S  SECRET :  446 

XXI.    LUPIN'S  LUPINS                    .          474 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

"Before  completing  her  movement,  she  stopped  short, 

as  though  seized  with  a  sudden  fear  "  .     Frontispiece 


FACING  PAGE 


"  Don  Luis  had  time  only  to  catch  sight  of  him  standing 
on  the  window  ledge  and  leaping  into  space  "  .  .  142 

"  Monsieur  Fauville  was  able,  by  lifting  the  boards  of  the 
floor  of  his  son's  room,  to  reach  the  top  of  the  machine 
which  he  had  contrived  " 322 

***Here,  take  this,  too,  Lupin.    A  chocolate  for  you  in 

case  you're  hungry  ' ' 442 


The  Teeth  of  the  Tiger 

,  .TMH->' 
CHAPTER  ONE 

:  1   ^nivl-j 

D'ARTAGNAN,  PORTHOS  .  .  .  AND  MONTE  GRISTO 


IT  WAS  half-past  four;  M.  Desmalions,  the  Prefect  of 
Police,  was  not  yet  back  at  the  office.  His  private 
secretary  laid  on  the  desk  a  bundle  of  letters  and  re- 
ports which  he  had  annotated  for  his  chief,  rang  the  bell 
and  said  to  the  messenger  who  entered  by  the  main 
door: 

"Monsieur  le  Preiet  has  sent  for  a  number  of  people  to 
see  him  at  five  o'clock.  Here  are  their  names.  Show 
them  into  separate  waiting-rooms,  so  that  they  can't 
communicate  with  one  another,  and  let  me  have  their 
cards  when  they  come." 

The  messenger  went  out.  The  secretary  was  turning 
toward  the  small  door  that  led  to  his  room,  when  the  main 
door  opened  once  more  and  admitted  a  man  who  stopped 
and  leaned  swaying  over  the  back  of  a  chair. 

"Why,  it's  you,  Verot!"  said  the  secretary.  "Bui 
what's  happened?  What's  the  matter?" 

Inspector  Verot  was  a  very  stout,  powerfully  built 
man,  with  a  big  neck  and  shoulders  and  a  florid  complex- 
ion. He  had  obviously  been  upset  by  some  violent  excite- 
ment, for  his  face,  streaked  with  red  veins  and  usually 
so  apoplectic,  seemed  almost  pale, 


4  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Oh,  nothing,  Monsieur  le  Secretaire!"  he  said. 

"Yes,  yes;  you're  not  looking  your  usual  self.  You're 
gray  in  the  face.  .  .  .  And  the  way  you're  per- 
spiring. .  .  ." 

Inspector  Verot  wiped  his  forehead  and,  pulling  himself 
together,  said : 

"It's  just  a  little  tiredness.  .  .  .  I've  been  over- 
working myself  lately:  I  was  very  keen  on  clearing  up  a 
case  which  Monsieur  Desmalions  had  put  in  my  hands. 
All  the  same,  I  have  a  funny  sort  of  feeling " 

"Will  you  have  a  pick-me-up?" 

"No,  no;  I'm  more  thirsty." 

"A  glass  of  water?" 

"No,  thank  you." 

"What  then?" 

"I  should  like  —  I  should  like " 

His  voice  faltered.  He  wore  a  troubled  look,  as  if  he 
had  suddenly  lost  his  power  of  getting  out  another  word. 
But  he  recovered  himself  with  an  effort  and  asked: 

"Isn't  Monsieur  Desmalions  here?" 

"No;  he  won't  be  back  till  five,  when  he  has  an  impor- 
tant meeting." 

"Yes  ...  I  know  >  .„  .  f  f  most  important. 
That's  what  I'm  here  for.  But  I  should  have  liked  to 
see  him  first.  I  should  so  much  have  liked  to  see  him ! " 

The  secretary  stared  at  Verot  and  said: 

"What  a  state  you're  in!  Is  your  message  so  urgent 
as  all  that?" 

"It's  very  urgent,  indeed.  It  has  to  do  with  a  crime 
that  took  place  a  month  ago,  to  the  day.  And,  above  all, 
it's  a  matter  of  preventing  two  murders  which  are  the  out- 
come of  that  other  crime  and  which  are  to  be  committed 


D'ARTAGNAN  AND  PORTHOS  5 

to-night.  Yes,  to-night,  inevitably,  unless  we  take  the 
necessary  steps." 

"Sit  down,  Verot,  won't  you?" 

"You  see,  the  whole  thing  has  been  planned  in  such  an 
infernal  manner!  You  would  never  have  imagined " 

"Still,  V6rot,  as  you  know  about  it  beforehand,  and  as 
Monsieur  le  Prefet  is  sure  to  give  you  full  powers  " 

"Yes,  of  course,  of  course.  But,  all  the  same,  it's  ter- 
rible to  think  that  I  might  miss  him.  So  I  wrote  him  this 
letter,  telling  him  all  I  know  about  the  business.  I 
thought  it  safer." 

He  handed  the  secretary  a  large  yellow  envelope  and 
added: 

"And  here's  a  little  box  as  well;  I'll  leave  it  on  this 
table.  It  contains  something  that  will  serve  to  complete 
and  explain  the  contents  of  the  letter." 

"But  why  don't  you  keep  all  that  by  you?  " 

"I'm  afraid  to.  They're  watching  me.  They're  trying 
to  get  rid  of  me.  I  shan't  be  easy  in  my  mind  until 
some  one  besides  myself  knows  the  secret." 

"Have  no  fear,  Verot.  Monsieur  le  Prefet  is  bound  to 
be  back  soon.  Meanwhile,  I  advise  you  to  go  to  the  in- 
firmary and  ask  for  a  pick-me-up." 

The  inspector  seemed  undecided  what  to  do.  Once 
more  he  wiped  away  the  perspiration  that  was  trickling 
down  his  forehead.  Then,  drawing  himself  up,  he  left 
the  office.  When  he  was  gone  the  secretary  slipped  the 
letter  into  a  big  bundle  of  papers  that  lay  on  the  Prefect's 
desk  and  went  out  by  the  door  leading  to  his  own  room. 

He  had  hardly  closed  it  behind  him  when  the  other 
door  opened  once  again  and  the  inspector  returned, 
spluttering: 


6  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Monsieur  le  Secretaire    .     .     .    it'd  be  better  if  I 

showed  you " 

*  The  unfortunate  man  was  as  white  as  a  sheet.  His 
teeth  were  chattering.  When  he  saw  that  the  secretary 
was  gone,  he  tried  to  walk  across  to  his  private  room.  But 
he  was  seized  with  an  attack  of  weakness  and  sank  into  a 
chair,  where  he  remained  for  some  minutes,  moaning 
helplessly: 

"What's  the  matter  with  me?  *  Y  .  Have  I  been 
poisoned,  too?  .  .  .  Oh,  I  don't  like  this;  I  don't 
like  the  look  of  this!" 

The  desk  stood  within  reach  of  his  hand.  He  took  a 
pencil,  drew  a  writing-pad  toward  him  and  began  to 
scribble  a  few  characters.  But  he  next  stammered: 

"Why,  no,  it's  not  worth  while.  The  Prefect  will  be 
reading  my  letter.  .  .  .  What  on  earth's  the  matter 
with  me.  I  don't  like  this  at  all ! " 

Suddenly  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  called  out: 

"Monsieur  le  Secretaire,  we've  got  .  .  .  we've 
got  to  ...  It's  for  to-night.  Nothing  can  pre- 
vent   " 

Stiffening  himself  with  an  effort  of  his  whole  will,  he 
made  for  the  door  of  the  secretary's  room  with  little  short 
steps,  like  an  automaton.  But  he  reeled  on  the  way  — 
and  had  to  sit  down  a  second  time. 

A  mad  terror  shook  him  from  head  to  foot;  and  he 
uttered  cries  which  were  too  faint,  unfortunately,  to  be 
heard.  He  realized  this  and  looked  round  for  a  bell,  for  a 
gong;  but  he  was  no  longer  able  to  distinguish  anything. 
A  veil  of  darkness  seemed  to  weigh  upon  his  eyes. 

Then  he  dropped  on  his  knees  and  crawled  to  the  wall, 
beating  the  air  with  one  hand,  like  a  blind  man,  until  he 


D'ARTAGNAN  AND  PORTHOS  7 

«ncfed  by  touching  some  woodwork.    It  was  the  partition' 
wall. 

He  crept  along  this;  but,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  hi» 
bewildered  brain  showed  him  a  false  picture  of  the  room, 
so  that,  instead  of  turning  to  the  left  as  he  should  have 
done,  he  followed  the  wall  to  the  right,  behind  a  screen 
which  concealed  a  third  door. 

His  fingers  touched  the  handle  of  this  door  and  he 
managed  to  open  it.  He  gasped,  "Help!  Help!"  and  fell 
at  his  full  length  in  a  sort  of  cupboard  or  closet  which  the 
Prefect  of  Police  used  as  a  dressing-room. 

"To-night!"  he  moaned,  believing  that  he  was  making 
himself  heard  and  that  he  was  in  the  secretary's  room. 
"To-night!  The  job  is  fixed  for  to-night!  You'll  see 
.  .  .  The  mark  of  the  teeth!  .  .  .  It's  awful! 
.  .  .  Oh,  the  pain  I'm  in!  ...  It's  the  poison! 
Save  me!  Help!" 

The  voice  died  away.  He  repeated  several  times,  as 
though  in  a  nightmare: 

"  The  teeth !  the  teeth !    They're  closing ! " 

Then  his  voice  grew  fainter  still;  and  inarticulate  sounds 
issued  from  his  pallid  lips.  His  mouth  munched  the  air 
like  the  mouth  of  one  of  those  old  men  who  seem  to  be 
interminably  chewing  the  cud.  His  head  sank  lower  and 
lower  on  his  breast.  He  heaved  two  or  three  sighs;  a 
great  shiver  passed  through  his  body;  and  he  moved  no 
more.  lo  y 

And  the  death-rattle  began  in  his  throat,  very  softly 
and  rhythmically,  broken  only  by  interruptions  in  which 
a  last  instinctive  effort  appeared  to  revive  the  flickering 
life  of  the  intelligence,  and  to  rouse  fitful  gleams  of  con- 
sciousness in  the  dimmed  eyes. 


8  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

The  Prefect  of  Police  entered  his  office  at  ten  minutes 
to  five.  M.  Desmalions,  who  had  filled  his  post  for 
the  past  three  years  with  an  authority  that  made  him 
generally  respected,  was  a  heavily  built  man  of  fifty 
with  a  shrewd  and  intelligent  face.  His  dress,  consist- 
ing of  a  gray  jacket-suit,  white  spats,  and  a  loosely 
flowing  tie,  in  no  way  suggested  the  public  official.  His 
manners  were  easy,  simple,  and  full  of  good-natured  frank- 
ness. 

He  touched  a  bell,  and  when  his  secretary  entered,  asked : 

"Are  the  people  whom  I  sent  for  here? " 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  and  I  gave  orders  that  they 
were  to  wait  in  different  rooms." 

"Oh,  it  would  not  have  mattered  if  they  had  met! 
However,  perhaps  it's  better  as  it  is.  I  hope  that  the 
American  Ambassador  did  not  trouble  to  come  in  person?  " 

"No,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"Have  you  their  cards?" 

"Yes." 

The  Prefect  of  Police  took  the  five  visiting  cards  which 
his  secretary  handed  him  and  read : 

"Mr.  Archibald  Bright,  First  Secretary  United  States 
Embassy;  Maitre  Lepertuis,  Solicitor;  Juan  Caceres, 
Attache  to  the  Peruvian  Legation;  Major  Comte  d'Astrig- 
nac,  retired." 

The  fifth  card  bore  merely  a  name,  without  address  or 
quality  of  any  kind  — 


DON  LUIS  PERENNA 


D'ARTAGNAN  AND  PORTHOS  9 

"That's  the  one  I'm  curious  to  see!"  said  M.  Des- 
malions.  "He  interests  me  like  the  very  devil!  Did  you 
read  the  report  of  the  Foreign  Legion?  " 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  and  I  confess  that  this  gen- 
tleman puzzles  me,  too." 

"He  does,  eh?  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  pluck?  A 
sort  of  heroic  madman,  something  absolutely  wonderful! 
And  then  there's  that  nickname  of  Arsene  Lupin  which  he 
earned  among  his  messmates  for  the  way  in  which  he  used 
to  boss  them  and  astound  them!  .  .  .  How  long  is  it 
since  the  death  of  Arsene  Lupin?" 

"It  happened  two  years  before  your  appointment, 
Monsieur  le  Prefet.  His  corpse  and  Mme.  Kesselbach's 
were  discovered  under  the  ruins  of  a  little  chalet  which 
was  burnt  down  close  to  the  Luxemburg  frontier.  It  was 
found  at  the  inquest  that  he  had  strangled  that  monster, 
Mrs.  Kesselbach,  whose  crimes  came  to  light  afterward, 
and  that  he  hanged  himself  after  setting  fire  to  the 
chalet." 

"It  was  a  fitting  end  for  that  —  rascal,"  said  M.  Des- 
malions,  "and  I  confess  that  I,  for  my  part,  much  prefer 
not  having  him  to  fight  against.  Let's  see,  where  were 
we?  Are  the  papers  of  the  Mornington  inheritance  ready 
for  me?" 

"On  your  desk,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"Good.  But  I  was  forgetting:  is  Inspector  Verot 
here?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  I  expect  he's  in  the  infir- 
mary getting  something  to  pull  him  together." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  him?" 

"He  struck  me  as  being  in  a  queer  state  —  rather  ill." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 


10 

The  secretary  described  his  interview  with  Inspector 
Verot. 

"And  you  say  he  left  a  letter  for  me?"  said  M.  Des- 
malions  with  a  worried  air.  **  Where  is  it?  " 

"Among  the  papers,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"Very  odd:  it's  all  very  odd.  Verot  is  a  first-rate 
inspector,  a  very  sober-minded  fellow;  and  he  doesn't  get 
frightened  easily.  You  might  go  and  fetch  him.  Mean- 
while, I'll  look  through  my  letters." 

The  secretary  hurried  away.  When  he  returned,  five 
minutes  later,  he  stated,  with  an  air  of  astonishment,  that 
he  had  not  seen  Inspector  Verot. 

"And  what's  more  curious  still,"  he  added,  "is  that  the 
messenger  who  saw  him  leave  this  room  saw  him  come  in 
again  almost  at  once  and  did  not  see  him  go  out  a  second 
time." 

"Perhaps  he  only  passed  through  here  to  go  to  you." 

"To  me,  Monsieur  le  Prefet?  I  was  in  my  room  all  the 
time." 

"Then  it's  incomprehensible." 

"Yes  .  .  .  unless  we  conclude  that  the  messenger's 
attention  was  distracted  for  a  second,  as  Verot  is  neither 
here  nor  next  door." 

"That  must  be  it.  I  expect  he's  gone  to  get  some  air 
outside;  and  he'll  be  back  at  any  moment.  For  that 
matter,  I  shan't  want  him  to  start  with." 

The  Prefect  looked  at  his  watch. 

"Ten  past  five.  You  might  tell  the  messenger  to  show 
those  gentlemen  in.  ...  Wait,  though " 

M.  Desmalions  hesitated.  In  turning  over  the  papers  he 
had  found  Verot's  letter.  It  was  a  large,  yellow,  business 
envelope,  with  "Cafe  du  Pont-Neuf "  printed  at  the  top. 


D'ARTAGNAN  AND  PORTHOS  11 

The  secretary  suggested : 

"In  view  of  Verot's  absence,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  and  of 
what  he  said,  it  might  be  as  well  for  you  to  see  what's  in 
the  letter  first." 

M.  Desmalions  paused  to  reflect. 

"Perhaps  you're  right." 

And,  making  up  his  mind,  he  inserted  a  paper-knife 
into  the  envelope  and  cut  it  open.  A  cry  escaped 
him. 

"Oh,  I  say,  this  is  a  little  too  much!" 

"What  is  it,  Monsieur  le  Prefet?" 

"Why,  look  here,  a  blank  .  .  .  sheet  of  paper! 
That's  all  the  envelope  contains!" 

"Impossible!"  i 

"See  for  yourself  —  a  plain  sheet  folded  in  four,  with 
not  a  word  on  it." 

"But  Verot  told  me  in  so  many  words  that  he  had  said 
in  that  letter  all  that  he  knew  about  the  case." 

"He  told  you  so,  no  doubt,  but  there  you  are!  Upon 
my  word,  if  I  didn't  know  Inspector  Verot,  I  should 
think  he  was  trying  to  play  a  game  with  me." 

"It's  a  piece  of  carelessness,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  at  the 
worst." 

"No  doubt,  a  piece  of  carelessness,  but  I'm  surprised 
at  him.  It  doesn't  do  to  be  careless  when  the  lives  of 
two  people  are  at  stake.  For  he  must  have  told  you  that 
there  is  a  double  murder  planned  for  to-night?  " 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  and  under  particularly 
alarming  conditions;  infernal  was  the  word  he  used." 

M.  Desmalions  was  walking  up  and  down  the  room, 
with  his  hands  behind  his  back.  He  stopped  at  a  small 
table. 


12  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"What's  this  little  parcel  addressed  to  me?  'Mon- 
sieur le  Prefet  de  Police  —  to  be  opened  in  case  of  ac- 
cident.' " 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  the  secretary,  "I  was  forgetting!  That's 
from  Inspector  Verot,  too;  something  of  importance,  he 
said,  and  serving  to  complete  and  explain  the  contents  of 
the  letter." 

"Well,"  said  M.  Desmalions,  who  could  not  help 
laughing,  "the  letter  certainly  needs  explaining;  and, 
though  there's  no  question  of  'accident,'  I  may  as  well 
open  the  parcel." 

As  he  spoke,  he  cut  the  string  and  discovered,  under  the 
paper,  a  box,  a  little  cardboard  box,  which  might  have 
come  from  a  druggist,  but  which  was  soiled  and  spoiled 
by  the  use  to  which  it  had  been  put. 

He  raised  the  lid.  Inside  the  box  were  a  few  layers  of 
cotton  wool,  which  were  also  rather  dirty,  and  in  between 
these  layers  was  half  a  cake  of  chocolate. 

"What  the  devil  does  this  mean?"  growled  the  Prefect 
in  surprise. 

He  took  the  chocolate,  looked  at  it,  and  at  once  per- 
ceived what  was  peculiar  about  this  cake  of  chocolate, 
which  was  also  undoubtedly  the  reason  why  Inspector 
Verot  had  kept  it.  Above  and  below,  it  bore  the  prints 
of  teeth,  very  plainly  marked,  very  plainly  separated  one 
from  the  other,  penetrating  to  a  depth  of  a  tenth  of  an 
inch  or  so  into  the  chocolate.  Each  possessed  its  individ- 
ual shape  and  width,  and  each  was  divided  from  its  neigh- 
bours by  a  different  interval.  The  jaws  which  had  started 
eating  the  cake  of  chocolate  had  dug  into  it  the  mark 
of  four  upper  and  five  lower  teeth. 

M.  Desmalions  remained  wrapped  in  thought  and,  with 


D'ARTAGNAN  AND  PORTHOS  13 

his  head  sunk  on  his  chest,  for  some  minutes  resumed  his 
walk  up  and  down  the  room,  muttering: 

"This  is  queer.  .  .  .  There's  a  riddle  here  to 
which  I  should  like  to  know  the  answer.  That  sheet  of 
paper,  the  marks  of  those  teeth :  what  does  it  all  mean?  " 

But  he  was  not  the  man  to  waste  much  time  over  a 
mystery  which  was  bound  to  be  cleared  up  presently,  as 
Inspector  Verot  must  be  either  at  the  police  office  or  some- 
where just  outside;  and  he  said  to  his  secretary: 

"I  can't  keep  those  five  gentlemen  waiting  any  longer. 
Please  have  them  shown  in  now.  If  Inspector  Verot  ar- 
rives while  they  are  here,  as  he  is  sure  to  do,  let  me  know  at 
once.  I  want  to  see  him  as  soon  as  he  comes.  Except  for 
that,  see  that  I'm  not  disturbed  on  any  pretext,  won't  you?" 

Two  minutes  later  the  messenger  showed  in  Maitre 
Lepertuis,  a  stout,  red-faced  man,  with  whiskers  and 
spectacles,  followed  by  Archibald  Bright,  the  Secretary 
of  Embassy,  and  Caceres,  the  Peruvian  attache.  M.  Des- 
malions,  who  knew  all  three  of  them,  chatted  to  them  un- 
til he  stepped  forward  to  receiveMajor  Comte  d'Astrignac, 
the  hero  of  La  Chouia,  who  had  been  forced  into  premature 
retirement  by  his  glorious  wounds.  The  Prefect  was 
complimenting  him  warmly  on  his  gallant  conduct  in 
Morocco  when  the  door  opened  once  more. 

"Don  Luis  Perenna,  I  believe?"  said  the  Prefect, 
offering  his  hand  to  a  man  of  middle  height  and  rather 
slender  build,  wearing  the  military  medal  and  the  red 
ribbon  of  the  Legion  of  Honour. 

The  newcomer's  face  and  expression,  his  way  of  holding 
himself,  and  his  very  youthful  movements  inclined  one  to 
look  upon  him  as  a  man  of  forty,  though  there  were 


14  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

wrinkles  at  the  corners  of  the  eyes  and  on  the  forehead, 
which  perhaps  pointed  to  a  few  years  more.  He  bowed. 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"Is  that  you,  Perenna?"  cried  Comte  d'Astrignac. 
"So  you  are  still  among  the  living?  " 

"Yes,  Major,  and  delighted  to  see  you  again.'* 

"Perenna  alive!  Why,  we  had  lost  all  sight  of  you 
when  I  left  Morocco !  We  thought  you  dead." 

"I  was  a  prisoner,  that's  all." 

"A  prisoner  of  the  tribesmen;  the  same  thing!" 

"Not  quite,  Major;  one  can  escape  from  anywhere. 
The  proof  stands  before  you." 

The  Prefect  of  Police,  yielding  to  an  irresistible  attrac- 
tion to  resist,  spent  some  seconds  in  examining  that 
powerful  face,  with  the  smiling  glance,  the  frank  and  reso- 
lute eyes,  and  the  bronzed  complexion,  which  looked  as  if 
it  had  been  bfeked  and  baked  again  by  the  sun. 

Then,  motioning  to  his  visitors  to  take  chairs  around 
his  desk,  M.  Desmalions  himself  sat  down  and  made  a 
preliminary  statement  in  clear  and  deliberate  tones: 

"The  summons,  gentlemen,  which  I  addressed  to  each 
of  you,  must  have  appeared  to  you  rather  peremptory 
and  mysterious.  And  the  manner  in  which  I  propose 
to  open  our  conversation  is  not  likely  to  diminish  your 
surprise.  But  if  you  will  attach  a  little  credit  to  my 
method,  you  will  soon  realize  that  the  whole  thing  is  very 
simple  and  very  natural.  I  will  be  as  brief  as  I  can." 

He  spread  before  him  the  bundle  of  documents  pre- 
pared for  him  by  his  secretary  and,  consulting  his  notes 
as  he  spoke,  continued: 

"Over  fifty  years  ago,  in  1860,  three  sisters,  three  or- 
phans, Ermeline,  Elizabeth,  and  Armande  Roussel,  aged 


D'ARTAGNAN  AND  PORTHOS  15 

twenty-two,  twenty,  and  eighteen  respectively,  were  liv- 
ing at  Saint-Etienne  with  a  cousin  named  Victor,  who  was 
a  few  years  younger.  The  eldest,  Ermeline,  was  the 
first  to  leave  Saint-Etienne.  She  went  to  London,  where 
she  married  an  Englishman  of  the  name  Mornington,  by 
whom  she  had  a  son,  who  was  christened  Cosmo. 

"The  family  was  very  poor  and  went  through  hard 
times.  Ermeline  repeatedly  wrote  to  her  sisters  to  ask 
for  a  little  assistance.  Receiving  no  reply,  she  broke  off 
the  correspondence  altogether.  In  1870  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Mornington  left  England  for  America.  Five  years  later 
they  were  rich.  Mr.  Mornington  died  in  1878;  but  his 
widow  continued  to  administer  the  fortune  bequeathed 
to  her  and,  as  she  had  a  genius  for  business  and  specula- 
tion, she  increased  this  fortune  until  it  attained  a  colossal 
figure.  At  her  decease,  in  1900,  she  left  her  son  the  sum 
of  four  hundred  million  francs." 

The  amount  seemed  to  make  an  impression  on  the 
Prefect's  hearers.  He  saw  the  major  and  Don  Luis 
Perenna  exchange  a  glance  and  asked : 

"You  knew  Cosmo  Mornington,  did  you  not?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  replied  Comte  d'Astrignac. 
"He  was  in  Morocco  when  Perenna  and  I  were  fighting 
there." 

"Just  so,"  said  M.  Desmalions.  "Cosmo  Mornington 
had  begun  to  travel  about  the  world.  He  took  up  the 
practise  of  medicine,  from  what  I  hear,  and,  when  occasion 
offered,  treated  the  sick  with  great  skill  and,  of  course,  with- 
out charge.  He  lived  first  in  Egypt  and  then  in  Algiers  and 
Morocco.  Last  year  he  settled  down  in  Paris,  where  he 
died  four  weeks  ago  as  the  result  of  a  most  stupid  accident." 

"A  carelessly  administered  hypodermic  Injection,  w«»s 


16  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

it  not,  Monsieur  le  Prefet?"  asked  the  secretary  of  the 
American  Embassy.  "It  was  mentioned  in  the  papers 
and  reported  to  us  at  the  embassy." 

"Yes,"  said  Desmalions.  "To  assist  his  recovery 
from  a  long  attack  of  influenza  which  had  kept  him  in  bed 
all  the  winter,  Mr.  Mornington,  by  his  doctor's  orders, 
used  to  give  himself  injections  of  glycero-phosphate  of 
soda.  He  must  have  omitted  the  necessary  precautions 
on  the  last  occasion  when  he  did  so,  for  the  wound  was 
poisoned,  inflammation  set  in  with  lightning  rapidity, 
and  Mr.  Mornington  was  dead  in  a  few  hours." 

The  Prefect  of  Police  turned  to  the  solicitor  and  asked : 

"Have  I  summed  up  the  facts  correctly,  Maitre 
Lepertuis?" 

"Absolutely,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

M.  Desmalions  continued: 

"The  next  morning,  Maitre  Lepertuis  called  here  and, 
for  reasons  which  you  will  understand  when  you  have 
heard  the  document  read,  showed  me  Cosmo  Morning- 
ton's  will,  which  had  been  placed  in  his  hands." 

While  the  Prefect  was  looking  through  the  papers, 
Maitre  Lepertuis  added: 

"I  may  be  allowed  to  say  that  I  saw  my  client  only 
once  before  I  was  summoned  to  his  death-bed ;  and  that  was 
on  the  day  when  he  sent  for  me  to  come  to  his  room  in  the 
hotel  to  hand  me  the  will  which  he  had  just  made.  This 
was  at  the  beginning  of  his  influenza.  In  the  course  of 
conversation  he  told  me  that  he  had  been  making  some 
inquiries  with  a  view  to  tracing  his  mother's  family,  and 
that  he  intended  to  pursue  these  inquiries  seriously  after 
his  recovery.  Circumstances,  as  it  turned  out,  prevented 
his  fulfilling  his  purpose." 


D'ARTAGNAN  AND  PORTHOS  17 

Meanwhile,  the  Prefect  of  Police  had  taken  from 
among  the  documents  an  open  envelope  containing  two 
sheets  of  paper.  He  unfolded  the  larger  of  the  two  and 
said: 

"This  is  the  will.  I  will  ask  you  to  listen  attentively 
while  I  read  it  and  also  the  document  attached  to  it.'* 

The  others  settled  themselves  hi  their  chairs;  and  the 
Prefect  read  out: 

"The  last  will  and  testament  of  me,  Cosmo  Mornington, 
eldest  son  of  Hubert  Mornington  and  Ermeline  Roussel,  his 
wife,  a  naturalized  citizen  of  the  United  States  of  America.  I 
give  and  bequeath  to  my  adopted  country  three  fourths  of  my 
estate,  to  be  employed  on  works  of  charity  in  accordance  with 
the  instructions,  written  in  my  hand,  which  Maltre  Lepertuis 
will  be  good  enough  to  forward  to  the  Ambassador  of  the 
United  States.  The  remainder  of  my  property,  to  the  value 
of  about  one  hundred  million  francs,  consisting  of  deposits  in 
various  Paris  and  London  banks,  a  list  of  which  is  in  the  keeping 
of  Maltre  Lepertuis,  I  give  and  bequeath,  in  memory  of  my 
dear  mother,  to  her  favourite  sister  Elizabeth  Roussel  or  her 
direct  heirs;  or,  in  default  of  Elizabeth  and  her  heirs,  to  her 
second  sister  Armande  Roussel  or  her  direct  heirs;  or,  in  default 
of  both  sisters  and  their  heirs,  to  their  cousin  Victor  Roussel  or 
his  direct  heirs. 

"In  the  event  of  my  dying  without  discovering  the  surviving 
members  of  the  Roussel  family,  or  of  the  cousin  of  the  three 
sisters,  I  request  my  friend  Don  Luis  Perenna  to  make  all  the 
necessary  investigations.  With  this  object,  I  hereby  appoint 
him  the  executor  of  my  will  in  so  far  as  concerns  the  European 
portion  of  my  estate,  and  I  beg  him  to  undertake  the  conduct 
of  the  events  that  may  arise  after  my  death  or  in  consequence 
of  my  death  to  consider  himself  my  representative  and  to  act 
in  all  things  for  the  benefit  of  my  memory  and  the  accomplish- 


18  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

ment  of  my  wishes.  In  gratitude  for  this  service  and  in  memory 
of  the  two  occasions  on  which  he  saved  my  life,  I  give  and  be- 
queath to  the  said  Don  Luis  Perenna  the  sum  of  one  million 
francs." 

The  Prefect  stopped  for  a  few  seconds.  Don  Luis 
murmured: 

"Poor  Cosmo!  .  .  .  I  should  not  have  needed  that 
inducement  to  carry  out  his  last  wishes." 

M.  Desmalions  continued  his  reading: 

"Furthermore,  if,  within  three  months  of  my  death,  the  in- 
vestigations made  by  Don  Luis  Perenna  and  by  Maltre  Leper- 
tuis  have  led  to  no  result;  if  no  heir  and  no  survivor  of  the  Rous- 
sel  family  have  come  forward  to  receive  the  bequest,  then  the 
whole  hundred  million  francs  shall  definitely,  all  later  claims 
notwithstanding,  accrue  to  my  friend  Don  Luis  Perenna.  I 
know  him  well  enough  to  feel  assured  that  he  will  employ  this 
fortune  in  a  manner  which  shall  accord  with  the  loftiness  of  his 
schemes  and  the  greatness  of  the  plans  which  he  described  to 
me  so  enthusiastically  in  our  tent  in  Morocco." 

M.  Desmalions  stopped  once  more  and  raised  his  eyes 
to  Don  Luis,  who  remained  silent  and  impassive,  thougb 
a  tear  glistened  on  his  lashes.  Comte  d'Astrignac  said: 

"My  congratulations,  Perenna." 

"Let  me  remind  you,  Major,"  he  answered,  "that  this 
legacy  is  subject  to  a  condition.  And  I  swear  that,  if  it 
depends  on  me,  the  survivors  of  the  Roussel  family  shall 
be  found." 

"I'm  sure  of  it,"  said  the  officer.     "I  know  you." 

"In  any  case,"  asked  the  Prefect  of  Police  of  Don  Luis, 
"you  do  not  refuse  this  conditional  legacy?" 


D'ARTAGNAN  AND  PORTHOS  19 

"Well,  no,"  said  Perenna,  with  a  laugh.  "There  are 
things  which  one  can't  refuse." 

"My  question,"  said  the  Prefect,  "was  prompted  by 
the  last  paragraph  of  the  will:  'If,  for  any  reason,  my 
friend  Perenna  should  refuse  this  legacy,  or  if  he  should 
have  died  before  the  date  fixed  for  its  payment,  I  request 
the  Ambassador  of  the  United  States  and  the  Prefect  of 
Police  for  the  time  being  to  consult  as  to  the  means  of 
building  and  maintaining  in  Paris  a  university  confined 
to  students  and  artists  of  American  nationality  and  to 
devote  the  money  to  this  purpose.  And  I  hereby  author- 
ize the  Prefect  of  Police  in  any  case  to  receive  a  sum  of 
three  hundred  thousand  francs  out  of  my  estate  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Paris  Police  Fund.'  " 

M.  Desmalions  folded  the  paper  and  took  up  another. 

"There  is  a  codicil  to  the  will.  It  consists  of  a  letter 
which  Mr.  Mornington  wrote  to  Maitre  Lepertuis  some 
time  after  and  which  explains  certain  points  with  greater 
precision: 

"I  request  Maitre  Lepertuis  to  open  my  will  on  the  day  after 
my  death,  in  the  presence  of  the  Prefect  of  Police,  who  will  be 
good  enough  to  keep  the  matter  an  entire  secret  for  a  month. 
One  month  later,  to  the  day,  he  will  have  the  kindness  to  sum- 
mon to  his  office  Maitre  Lepertuis,  Don  Luis  Perenna,  and  a 
prominent  member  of  the  United  States  Embassy.  Subsequent 
to  the  reading  of  the  will,  a  cheque  for  one  million  francs  shall 
be  handed  to  my  friend  and  legatee  Don  Luis  Perenna,  after  a 
simple  examination  of  his  papers  and  a  simple  verification  of 
his  identity.  I  should  wish  this  verification  to  be  made  as 
regards  the  personality  by  Major  Comte  d'Astrignac,  who  was 
his  commanding  officer  in  Morocco,  and  who  unfortunately 
had  to  retire  prematurely  from  the  army;  and  as  regards 


20 

birth  by  a  member  of  the  Peruvian  Legation,  as  Don  Luis 
Perenna,  though  retaining  his  Spanish  nationality,  was  born 
in  Peru. 

"Furthermore,  I  desire  that  my  will  be  not  communicated  to 
the  Roussel  heirs  until  two  days  later,  at  Maltre  Lepertuis's 
office.  Finally  —  and  this  is  the  last  expression  of  my  wishes 
as  regards  the  disposal  of  my  estate  and  the  method  of  proceed- 
ing with  that  disposal  —  the  Prefect  of  Police  will  be  good 
enough  to  summon  the  persons  aforesaid  to  his  office,  for  a 
second  time,  at  a  date  to  be  selected  by  himself,  not  less  than 
sixty  nor  more  than  ninety  days  after  the  first  meeting.  Then 
and  not  till  then  will  the  definite  legatee  be  named  and  pro- 
claimed according  to  his  rights,  nor  shall  any  be  so  named  and 
proclaimed  unless  he  be  present  at  this  meeting,  at  the  conclusion 
of  which  Don  Luis  Perenna,  who  must  also  attend  it,  shall  be- 
come the  definite  legatee  if,  as  I  have  said,  no  survivor  nor  heir 
of  the  Roussel  sisters  or  of  their  cousin  Victor  have  come  forward 
to  claim  the  bequest." 

Replacing  both  documents  in  the  envelope  the  Prefect 
of  Police  concluded: 

"You  have  now,  gentlemen,  heard  the  will  of  Mr. 
Cosmo  Mornington,  which  explains  your  presence  here. 
A  sixth  person  will  join  us  shortly:  one  of  my  detectives, 
whom  I  instructed  to  make  the  first  inquiries  about  the 
Roussel  family  and  who  will  give  you  the  result  of  his 
investigations.  But,  for  the  moment,  we  must  proceed 
in  accordance  with  the  testator's  directions. 

"Don  Luis  Perenna's  papers,  which  he  sent  me,  at  my 
request,  a  fortnight  ago,  have  been  examined  by  myself 
and  are  perfectly  in  order.  As  regards  his  birth,  I  wrote 
and  begged  his  Excellency  the  Peruvian  minister  to  collect 
the  most  precise  information." 


D'ARTAGNAN  AND  PORTHOS  21 

"The  minister  entrusted  this  mission  to  me,"  said 
Sefior  Caceres,  the  Peruvian  attache.  "It  offered  no 
difficulties.  Don  Luis  Perenna  comes  of  an  old  Spanish 
family  which  emigrated  thirty  years  ago,  but  which  re- 
tained its  estates  and  property  in  Europe.  I  knew  Don 
Luis's  father  in  America;  and  he  used  to  speak  of  his  only 
son  with  the  greatest  affection.  It  was  our  legation  that 
informed  the  son,  three  years  ago,  of  his  father's  death. 
I  produce  a  copy  of  the  letter  sent  to  Morocco." 

"And  I  have  the  original  letter  here,  among  the  docu- 
ments forwarded  by  Don  Luis  Perenna  to  the  Prefect  of 
Police.     Do  you,  Major,  recognize  Private  Perenna,  who 
fought  under  your  orders  in  the  Foreign  Legion?  " 
"I  recognize  him,"  said  Comte  d'Astrignae. 
"Beyond  the  possibility  of  a  mistake?" 
"Beyond  the  possibility  of  a  mistake  and  without  the 
least  feeling  of  hesitation." 

The  Prefect  of  Police,  with  a  laugh,  hinted : 
"You   recognize   Private   Perenna,   whom   the   men, 
carried  away  by  a  sort  of  astounded  admiration  of  his 
exploits,  used  to  call  Arsene  Lupin?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  replied  the  major  sharply, 
"the  one  whom  the  men  called  Arsene  Lupin,  but  whom 
the  officers  called  simply  the  Hero,  the  one  who  we  used 
to  say  was  as  brave  as  d'Artagnan,  as  strong  as  Por- 
thos.  ..." 

"And  as  mysterious  as  Monte  Cristo,"  said  the  Prefect 
of  Police,  laughing.  "I  have  all  this  in  the  report  which 
I  received  from  the  Fourth  Regiment  of  the  Foreign 
Legion.  It  is  not  necessary  to  read  the  whole  of  it;  but 
it  contains  the  unprecedented  fact  that  Private  Perenna,  in 
the  space  of  two  years'  time,  received  the  military  medal, 


22  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

received  the  Legion  of  Honour  for  exceptional  services,  and 
was  mentioned  fourteen  times  in  dispatches.  I  will  pick 
out  a  detail  here  and  there." 

"  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  I  beg  of  you,"  protested  Don  Luis. 
"These  are  trivial  matters,  of  no  interest  to  anybody; 
and  I  do  not  see  the  reason.  .  .  . " 

"There  is  every  reason,  on  the  contrary,"  declared 
M.  Desmalions.  "You  gentlemen  are  here  not  only  to 
hear  a  will  read,  but  also  to  authorize  its  execution  as 
regards  the  only  one  of  its  clauses  that  is  to  be  carried  out 
at  once,  the  payment  of  a  legacy  of  a  million  francs.  It 
is  necessary,  therefore,  that  all  of  you  should  know  what 
there  is  to  know  of  the  personality  of  the  legatee.  Con- 
sequently, I  propose  to  continue  .  .  ." 

"In  that  case,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  said  Perenna,  rising 
and  making  for  the  door,  "you  will  allow  me  .  .  .'?' 

"Right  about  turn!  Halt!  .  .  .  Eyes  front!  "com- 
manded Major  d'Astrignac  in  a  jesting  tone. 

He  dragged  Don  Luis  back  to  the  middle  of  the  room 
and  forced  him  into  a  chair. 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  he  said,  "I  plead  for  mercy  for 
my  old  comrade-in-arms,  whose  modesty  would  really 
be  put  to  too  severe  a  test  if  the  story  of  his  prowess  were 
read  out  in  front  of  him.  Besides,  the  report  is  here; 
and  we  can  all  of  us  consult  it  for  ourselves.  With- 
out having  seen  it,  I  second  every  word  of  praise  that 
it  contains;  and  I  declare  that,  in  the  course  of  my 
whole  military  career,  I  have  never  met  a  soldier  who 
could  compare  with  Private  Perenna.  And  yet  I  saw 
plenty  of  fine  fellows  over  there,  the  sort  of  demons 
whom  you  only  find  in  the  Legion  and  who  will 
get  themselves  cut  to  bits  for  the  sheer  pleasure  of 


D'ARTAGNAN  AND  PORTHOS  23 

the  thing,  for  the  lark  of  it,  as  they  say,  just  to  astonish 
one  another. 

"But  not  one  of  them  came  anywhere  near  Perenna. 
The  chap  whom  we  nicknamed  d'Artagnan,  Porthos, 
and  de  Bussy  deserved  to  be  classed  with  the  most  amajZ- 
ing  heroes  of  legend  and  history.  I  have  seen  him  per- 
form feats  which  I  should  not  care  to  relate,  for  fear  of 
being  treated  as  an  impostor;  feats  so  improbable  that 
to-day,  in  my  calmer  moments,  I  wonder  if  I  am  quite 
sure  that  I  did  see  them.  One  day,  at  Settat,  as  we  were 
being  pursued " 

"Another  word,  Major,"  cried  Don  Luis,  gayly,  "and 
this  time  I  really  will  go  out!  I  must  say  you  have  a 
nice  way  of  sparing  my  modesty!" 

"My  dear  Perenna,"  replied  Comte  d'Astrignac,  "I 
always  told  you  that  you  had  every  good  quality  and 
only  one  fault,  which  was  that  you  were  not  a  French- 
man." 

"And  I  always  answered,  Major,  that  I  was  French 
on  my  mother's  side  and  a  Frenchman  in  heart  and  tem- 
perament. There  are  things  which  only  a  Frenchman 
can  do." 

The  two  men  again  gripped  each  other's  hands  affec- 
tionately. 

"Come,"  said  the  Prefect,  "we'll  say  no  more  of  your 
feats  of  prowess,  Monsieur,  nor  of  this  report.  I  will 
mention  one  thing,  however,  which  is  that,  after  two 
years,  you  fell  into  an  ambush  of  forty  Berbers,  that  you 
were  captured,  and  that  you  did  riot  rejoin  the  Legion 
until  last  month." 

"Just  so,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  in  time  to  receive  my  dis- 
charge, as  my  five  years'  service  was  up." 


24  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"But  how  did  Mr.  Cosmo  Mornington  come  to  mention 
you  in  his  will,  when,  at  the  time  when  he  was  making  it, 
you  had  disappeared  from  view  for  eighteen  months?" 

"Cosmo  and  I  used  to  correspond." 

"What!" 

"Yes;  and  I  had  informed  him  of  my  approaching 
escape  and  my  return  to  Paris." 

"But  how  did  you  manage  it?  Where  were  you? 
And  how  did  you  find  the  means?  .  .  ." 

Don  Luis  smiled  without  answering. 

"  Monte  Cristo,  this  time,"  said  M.  Desmalions.  "  The 
mysterious  Monte  Cristo." 

"Monte  Cristo,  if  you  like,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  In 
point  of  fact,  the  mystery  of  my  captivity  and  escape  is  a 
rather  strange  one.  It  may  be  interesting  to  throw  some 
light  upon  it  one  of  these  days.  Meanwhile,  I  must  ask 
for  a  little  credit." 

A  silence  ensued.  M.  Desmalions  once  more  inspected 
this  curious  individual;  and  he  could  not  refrain  from 
saying,  as  though  in  obedience  to  an  association  of  ideas 
for  which  he  himself  was  unable  to  account: 

"One  word  more,  and  one  only.  What  were  your  com- 
rades' reasons  for  giving  you  that  rather  odd  nickname  of 
Arsene  Lupin?  Was  it  just  an  allusion  to  your  pluck,  to 
your  physical  strength?" 

"There  was  something  besides,  Monsieur  le  Prefet: 
the  discovery  of  a  very  curious  theft,  of  which  certain 
details,  apparently  incapable  of  explanation,  had  enabled 
me  to  name  the  perpetrator." 

"So  you  have  a  gift  for  that  sort  of  thing?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  a  certain  knack  which  I  had 
the  opportunity  of  employing  in  Africa  on  more  than 


D'ARTAGNAN  AND  PORTHOS  25 

one  occasion.  Hence  my  nickname  of  Arsene  Lupin.  It 
was  soon  after  the  death  of  the  man  himself,  you  know, 
and  he  was  much  spoken  of  at  the  time." 

"Was  it  a  serious  theft?" 

"It  was  rather;  and  it  happened  to  be  committed  upon 
Cosmo  Mornington,  who  was  then  living  in  the  Province 
of  Oran.  That  was  really  what  started  our  relations." 

There  was  a  fresh  silence;  and  Don  Luis  added: 

"Poor  Cosmo!  That  incident  gave  him  an  unshakable 
confidence  in  my  little  detective  talents.  He  was  always 
saying,  'Perenna,  if  I  die  murdered'  —  he  had  a  fixed  no- 
tion in  his  head  that  he  would  meet  with  a  violent  death 
—  'if  I  die  murdered,  swear  that  you  will  pursue  the 
culprit.'" 

"His  presentiment  was  not  justified,"  said  the  Prefect 
of  Police.  "Cosmo  Mornington  was  not  murdered." 

"That's  where  you  make  a  mistake,  Monsieur  le  Prefet," 
said  Don  Luis. 

M.  Desmalions  gave  a  start. 

"  What !     What's  that?     Cosmo  Mornington ?  " 

"I  say  that  Cosmo  Mornington  did  not  die,  as  you 
think,  of  a  carelessly  administered  injection,  but  that  he 
died,  as  he  feared  he  would,  by  foul  play." 

"But,  Monsieur,  your  assertion  is  based  on  no  evidence 
whatever!" 

"It  is  based  on  fact,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"Were  you  there?    Do  you  know  anything?" 

"I  was  not  there.  A  month  ago  I  was  still  with  the 
colours.  I  even  admit  that,  when  I  arrived  in  Paris,  not 
having  seen  the  newspapers  regularly,  I  did  not  know  of 
Cosmo's  death.  In  fact,  I  learned  it  from  you  just  now, 
Monsieur  le  Prefet." 


26  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"In  that  case,  Monsieur,  you  cannot  know  more  about 
it  than  I  do,  and  you  must  accept  the  verdict  of  the  doc- 
tor." 

"  I  am  sorry,  but  his  verdict  fails  to  satisfy  me/* 

"But  look  here,  Monsieur,  what  prompts  you  to  make 
the  accusation?  Have  you  any  evidence?" 

"Yes." 

"What  evidence?" 

"Your  own  words,  Monsieur  le  Prefet/* 

"My  own  words?    What  do  you  mean?" 

"I  will  tell  you,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  You  began  by 
saying  that  Cosmo  Mornington  had  taken  up  medicine 
and  practised  it  with  great  skill;  next,  you  said  that  he  had 
given  himself  an  injection  which,  carelessly  administered, 
set  up  inflammation  and  caused  his  death  withinxa  few 
hours."- 

"Yes." 

"Well,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  I  maintain  that  a  man  who 
practises  medicine  with  great  skill  and  who  is  accustomed 
to  treating  sick  people,  as  Cosmo  Mornington  was,  is 
incapable  of  giving  himself  a  hypodermic  injection  with- 
out first  taking  every  necessary  antiseptic  precaution.  I 
have  seen  Cosmo  at  work,  and  I  know  how  he  set  about 
things." 

"Well?" 

"  Well,  the  doctor  just  wrote  a  certificate  as  any  doctor 
will  when  there  is  no  sort  of  clue  to  arouse  his  suspicions." 

"So  your  opinion  is " 

"Maitre  Lepertuis,"  asked  Perenna,  turning  to  the 
solicitor,  "did  you  notice  nothing  unusual  when  you  were 
summoned  to  Mr.  Mornington's  death-bed?" 

"  No,  nothing.    Mr.  Mornington  was  hi  a  state  of  coma/' 


D'ARTAGNAN  AND  PORTHOS  27 

"It's  a  strange  thing  in  itself/*  observed  Don  Luis, 
"that  an  injection,  however  badly  administered,  should 
produce  such  rapid  results.  Were  there  no  signs  of 
suffering?" 

"No  .  .  .  or  rather,  yes.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  remem- 
ber the  face  showed  brown  patches  which  I  did  not  see 
on  the  occasion  of  my  first  visit." 

"Brown  patches?  That  confirms  my  supposition' 
Cosmo  Mornington  was  poisoned." 

"But  how?"  exclaimed  the  Prefect. 

"By  some  substance  introduced  into  one  of  the  phials 
of  glycero-phosphate,  or  into  the  syringe  which  the  sick 
man  employed." 

"But  the  doctor?"  M.  Desmalions  objected. 

"Maitre  Lepertuis,"  Perenna  continued,  "did  you  call 
the  doctor's  attention  to  those  brown  patches?" 

"Yes,  but  he  attached  no  importance  to  them." 

"Was  it  his  ordinary  medical  adviser?" 

"No,  his  ordinary  medical  adviser,  Doctor  Pujol,  who 
happens  to  be  a  friend  of  mine  and  who  had  recommended 
me  to  him  as  a  solicitor,  was  ill.  The  doctor  whom  I 
saw  at  his  death-bed  must  have  been  a  local  practitioner." 

"I  have  his  name  and  address  here,"  said  the  Prefect 
of  Police,  who  had  turned  up  the  certificate.  "Doctor 
Bellavoine,  14  Rue  d'Astorg." 

"Have  you  a  medical  directory,  Monsieur  le  Prefet?" 

M.  Desmalions  opened  a  directory  and  turned  over  the 
pages.  Presently  he  declared: 

"There  is  no  Doctor  Bellavoine;  and  there  is  no  doctor 
living  at  14  Rue  d'Astorg." 


CHAPTER  TWO 

A  MAN   DEAD 

THE  declaration  was  followed  by  a  silence  of  some 
length.  The  Secretary  of  the  American  Embassy 
and  the  Peruvian  attache  had  followed  the  con- 
versation with  eager  interest.  Major  d'Astrignac  nodded 
his  head  with  an  air  of  approval.  To  his  mind,  Perenna 
could  not  be  mistaken. 

The  Prefect  of  Police  confessed: 

"Certainly,  certainly  ...  we  have  a  number  of 
circumstances  here  .  .  .  that  are  fairly  ambiguous. 
.  .  .  Those  brown  patches;  that  doctor.  .  .  .  It's 
a  case  that  wants  looking  into."  And,  questioning  Don 
Luis  Perenna  as  though  in  spite  of  himself,  he  asked, 
"No  doubt,  in  your  opinion,  there  is  a  possible  connection 
between  the  murder  .  .  .  and  Mr.  Mornington's 
will?" 

"That,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  I  cannot  tell.  If  there  is, 
we  should  have  to  suppose  that  the  contents  of  the  will 
were  known.  Do  you  think  they  can  have  leaked  out, 
Maitre  Lepertuis?" 

"I  don't  think  so,  for  Mr.  Mornington  seemed  to  behave 
with  great  caution." 

"And  there's  no  question,  is  there,  of  any  indiscretion 
committed  in  your  office?" 

"By  whom?    No  one  handled  the  will  except  myself; 

28 


A  MAN  DEAD  29 

*\ 

and  I  alone  have  the  key  of  the  safe  in  which  I  put  away 
documents  of  that  importance  every  evening." 

"The  safe  has  not  been  broken  into?  There  has  been 
no  burglary  at  your  office?" 

"No." 

"You  saw  Cosmo  Mornington  in  the  morning?" 

"Yes,  on  a  Friday  morning." 

"What  did  you  do  with  the  will  until  the  evening,  until 
you  locked  it  away  in  your  safe?" 

"I  probably  put  it  in  the  drawer  of  my  desk." 

"And  the  drawer  was  not  forced?" 

Maitre  Lepertuis  seemed  taken  aback  and  made  no 
reply. 

"Well?"  asked  Perenna. 

"Well,  yes,  I  remember  .  .  .  there  was  something 
that  day  .  .  .  that  same  Friday." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Yes.  When  I  came  in  from  lunch  I  noticed  that  the 
drawer  was  not  locked,  although  I  had  locked  it  beyond 
the  least  doubt.  At  the  time  I  attached  comparatively 
little  importance  to  the  incident.  To-day,  I  understand, 
I  understand " 

Thus,  little  by  little,  were  all  the  suppositions  conceived 
by  Don  Luis  verified:  suppositions  resting,  it  is  true,  upon 
just  one  or  two  clues,  but  yet  containing  an  amount  of 
intuition,  of  divination,  that  was  really  surprising  in  a 
man  who  had  been  present  at  none  of  the  events  between 
which  he  traced  the  connection  so  skilfully. 

"We  will  lose  no  time,  Monsieur,"  said  the  Prefect 
of  Police,  "in  checking  your  statements,  which  you 
will  confess  to  be  a  little  venturesome,  by  the  more 
positive  evidence  of  one  of  my  detectives  who  has  the 


30  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

case  in  charge  .  .  .  and  who  ought  to  be  here  by 
now." 

"Does  his  evidence  bear  upon  Cosmo  Mornington's 
heirs?"  asked  the  solicitor. 

"Upon  the  heirs  principally,  because  two  days  ago  he 
telephoned  to  me  that  he  had  collected  all  the  particulars, 

and  also  upon  the  very  points  which But  wait:  I 

remember  that  he  spoke  to  my  secretary  of  a  murder 
committed  a  month  ago  to-day.  .  .  .  Now  it's  a 
month  to-day  since  Mr.  Cosmo  Mornington " 

M.  Desmalions  pressed  hard  on  a  bell.  His  private 
secretary  at  once  appeared. 

"Inspector  Verot?"  asked  the  Prefect  sharply. 

"He's  not  back  yet." 

"Have  him  fetched!  Have  him  brought  here!  He 
must  be  found  at  all  costs  and  without  delay." 

He  turned  to  Don  Luis  Perenna. 

"Inspector  Verot  was  here  an  hour  ago,  feeling  rather 
unwell,  very  much  excited,  it  seems,  and  declaring  that 
he  was  being  watched  and  followed.  He  said  he  wanted 
to  make  a  most  important  statement  to  me  about  the 
Mornington  case  and  to  warn  the  police  of  two  murders 
which  are  to  be  committed  to-night  .  .  .  and  which 
would  be  a  consequence  of  the  murder  of  Cosmo  Mor- 
nington." 

"And  he  was  unwell,  you  say?" 

"Yes,  ill  at  ease  and  even  very  queer  and  imagining 
things.  By  way  of  being  prudent,  he  left  a  detailed 
report  on  the  case  for  me.  Well,  the  report  is  simply  a 
blank  sheet  of  letter-paper. 

"Here  is  the  paper  and  the  envelope  in  which  I  found 
it,  and  here  is  a  cardboard  box  which  he  also  left  be- 


A  MAN  DEAD  31 

hind  him.  It  contains  a  cake  of  chocolate  with  the  marks 
of  teeth  on  it." 

"May  I  look  at  the  two  things  you  have  mentioned, 
Monsieur  le  Prefet?" 

"Yes,  but  they  won't  tell  you  anything." 

"Perhaps  so " 

Don  Luis  examined  at  length  the  cardboard  box  and 
the  yellow  envelope,  on  which  were  printed  the  words, 
"Cafe  du  Pont-Neuf."  The  others  awaited  his  words  as 
though  they  were  bound  to  shed  an  unexpected  light. 
He  merely  said: 

"The  handwriting  is  not  the  same  on  the  envelope  and 
the  box.  The  writing  on  the  envelope  is  less  plain,  a 
little  shaky,  obviously  imitated." 

"Which  proves ?" 

"Which  proves,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  that  this  yellow 
envelope  does  not  come  from  your  detective.  I  presume 
that,  after  writing  his  report  at  a  table  in  the  Caf6  du 
Pont-Neuf  and  closing  it,  he  had  a  moment  of  inattention 
during  which  somebody  substituted  for  his  envelope  an- 
other with  the  same  address,  but  containing  a  blank 
sheet  of  paper." 

"That's  a  supposition!"  said  the  Prefect. 

"Perhaps;  but  what  is  certain,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  is 
that  your  inspector's  presentiments  are  well-grounded, 
that  he  is  being  closely  watched,  that  the  discoveries 
about  the  Mornington  inheritance  which  he  has  succeeded 
in  making  are  interfering  with  criminal  designs,  and  that 
he  is  in  terrible  danger." 

"Come,  come!" 

"He  must  be  rescued,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  Ever  since 
the  commencement  of  this  meeting  I  have  felt  persuaded 


32  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

that  we  are  up  against  an  attempt  which  has  already 
begun.  I  hope  that  it  is  not  too  late  and  that  your  in- 
spector has  not  been  the  first  victim." 

"My  dear  sir,"  exclaimed  the  Prefect  of  Police,  "you 
declare  all  this  with  a  conviction  which  rouses  my  admi- 
ration, but  which  is  not  enough  to  establish  the  fact  that 
your  fears  are  justified.  Inspector  Verot's  return  will 
be  the  best  proof." 

"Inspector  Verot  will  not  return." 

"But  why  not?" 

"  Because  he  has  returned  already.  The  messenger  saw 
him  return." 

"The  messenger  was  dreaming.  If  you  have  no  proof 
but  that  man's  evidence  - 

"I  have  another  proof,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  which  In- 
spector Verot  himself  has  left  of  his  presence  here:  these 
few,  almost  illegible  letters  which  he  scribbled  on  this 
memorandum  pad,  which  your  secretary  did  not  see  him 
write  and  which  have  just  caught  my  eye.  Look  at  them. 
Are  they  not  a  proof,  a  definite  proof  that  he  came  back?  " 

The  Prefect  did  not  conceal  his  perturbation.  The 
others  all  seemed  impressed.  The  secretary's  return  but 
increased  their  apprehensions :  nobody  had  seen  Inspector 
Verot. 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  said  Don  Luis,  "I  earnestly  beg 
you  to  have  the  office  messenger  in." 

And,  as  soon  as  the  messenger  was  there,  he  asked  him, 
without  even  waiting  for  M.  Desmalions  to  speak: 

"Are  you  sure  that  Inspector  Verot  entered  this  room 
a  second  time?" 

sure," 


A  MAN  DEAD  33 


"And  that  he  did  not  go  out  again?' 
"Absolutely  sure." 


"And  your  attention  was  not  distracted  for  a  moment?  " 

"Not  for  a  moment." 

"There,  Monsieur,  you  see!"  cried  the  Prefect.  "If 
Inspector  Verot  were  here,  we  should  know  it." 

"He  is  here,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"What!" 

"Excuse  my  obstinacy,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  but  I  say 
that,  when  some  one  enters  a  room  and  does  not  go  out 
again,  he  is  still  in  that  room." 

"Hiding?"  said  M.  Desmalions,  who  was  growing  more 
and  more  irritated. 

"No,  but  fainting,  ill  —  dead,  perhaps." 

"But  where,  hang  it  all?" 

"Behind  that  screen." 

"There's  nothing  behind  that  screen,  nothing  but  a 
door." 

"And  that  door ?" 

"Leads  to  a  dressing-room." 

"Well,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  Inspector  Verot,  tottering, 
losing  his  head,  imagining  himself  to  be  going  from  your 
office  to  your  secretary's  room,  fell  into  your  dressing- 
room." 

M.  Desmalions  ran  to  the  door,  but,  at  the  moment  of 
opening  it,  shrank  back.  Was  it  apprehension,  the  wish 
to  withdraw  himself  from  the  influence  of  that  astonishing 
man,  who  gave  his  orders  with  such  authority  and  who 
seemed  to  command  events  themselves? 

Don  Luis  stood  waiting  imperturbably,  in  a  deferential 
attitude. 

"I  cannot  believe "  said  M.  Desmalions. 


34  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  I  would  remind  you  that  Inspector 
Verot's  revelations  may  save  the  lives  of  two  persons  who 
are  doomed  to  die  to-night.  Every  minute  lost  is  irrepa- 
rable." 

M.  Desmalions  shrugged  his  shoulders.  But  that  man 
mastered  him  with  the  power  of  his  conviction;  and  the 
Prefect  opened  the  door. 

He  did  not  make  a  movement,  did  not  utter  a  cry.  He 
simply  muttered: 

"Oh,  is  it  possible! " 

By  the  pale  gleam  of  light  that  entered  through  a 
ground-glass  window  they  saw  the  body  of  a  man  lying 
on  the  floor. 

"The  inspector!  Inspector  Verot!"  gasped  the  office 
messenger,  running  forward. 

He  and  the  secretary  raised  the  body  and  placed  it  in 
an  armchair  in  the  Prefect's  office. 

Inspector  Verot  was  still  alive,  but  so  little  alive  that 
they  could  scarcely  hear  the  beating  of  his  heart.  A  drop 
of  saliva  trickled  from  the  corner  of  his  mouth.  His 
eyes  were  devoid  of  all  expression.  However,  certain 
muscles  of  the  face  kept  moving,  perhaps  with  the  effort 
of  a  will  that  seemed  to  linger  almost  beyond  life. 

Don  Luis  muttered: 

"Look,  Monsieur  le  Prefet  —  the  brown  patches!" 

The  same  dread  unnerved  all.  They  began  to  ring  bells 
and  open  doors  and  call  for  help. 

"  Send  for  the  doctor ! "  ordered  M.  Desmalions.  "  Tell 
them  to  bring  a  doctor,  the  first  that  comes  —  and  a 
priest.  We  can't  let  the  poor  man " 

Don  Luis  raised  his  arm  to  demand  silence. 

"There  is  nothing  more  to  be  done,"  he  said.     "We 


A  MAN  DEAD  35 

shall  do  better  to  make  the  most  of  these  last  moments. 
Have  I  your  permission,  Monsieur  le  Prefet?" 

He  bent  over  the  dying  man,  laid  the  swaying  head 
against  the  back  of  the  chair,  and,  in  a  very  gentle  voice, 
whispered: 

"Verot,  it's  Monsieur  le  Prefet  speaking  to  you.  We 
should  like  a  few  particulars  about  what  is  to  take  place 
to-night.  Do  you  hear  me,  Verot?  If  you  hear  me, 
close  your  eyelids." 

The  eyelids  were  lowered.  But  was  it  not  merely 
chance?  Don  Luis  went  on: 

"You  have  found  the  heirs  of  the  Roussel  sisters,  that 
much  we  know;  and  it  is  two  of  those  heirs  who  are 
threatened  with  death.  The  double  murder  is  to  be 
committed  to-night.  But  what  we  do  not  know  is  the 
name  of  those  heirs,  who  are  doubtless  not  called  Roussel. 
You  must  tell  us  the  name. 

"Listen  to  me:  you  wrote  on  a  memorandum  pad  three 
letters  which  seem  to  form  the  syllable  Fau.  .  .  .  Am 
I  right?  Is  this  the  first  syllable  of  a  name?  Which  is 
the  next  letter  after  those  three?  Close  your  eyes  when 
I  mention  the  right  letter.  Is  it  *b? '  Is  it  *c?  " 

But  there  was  now  not  a  flicker  in  the  inspector's  pallid 
face.  The  head  dropped  heavily  on  the  chest.  Ve"rot 
gave  two  or  three  sighs,  his  frame  shook  with  one  great 
shiver,  and  he  moved  no  more. 

He  was  dead. 

The  tragic  scene  had  been  enacted  so  swiftly  that  the 
men  who  were  its  shuddering  spectators  remained  for  a 
moment  confounded.  The  solicitor  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross  and  went  down  on  his  knees.  The  Prefect  mur' 
mured: 


36  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Poor  Verot!  .  .  .  He  was  a  good  man,  who 
thought  only  of  the  service,  of  his  duty.  Instead  of  going 
and  getting  himself  seen  to  —  and  who  knows?  Perhaps 
he  might  have  been  saved  —  he  came  back  here  hi  the 
hope  of  communicating  his  secret.  Poor  Verot! " 

"Was  he  married?  Are  there  any  children?"  asked 
Don  Luis. 

"He  leaves  a  wife  and  three  children,'*  replied  the 
Prefect. 

"I  will  look  after  them,"  said  Don  Luis  simply. 

Then,  when  they  brought  a  doctor  and  when  M.  Des- 
malions  gave  orders  for  the  corpse  to  be  carried  to  another 
room,  Don  Luis  took  the  doctor  aside  and  said: 

"There  is  no  doubt  that  Inspector  Verot  was  poisoned. 
Look  at  his  wrist:  you  will  see  the  mark  of  a  puncture 
with  a  ring  of  inflammation  round  it." 

"Then  he  was  pricked  in  that  place?" 

"Yes,  with  a  pin  or  the  point  of  a  pen;  and  not  as 
violently  as  they  may  have  wished,  because  death  did 
not  ensue  until  some  hours  later." 

The  messengers  removed  the  corpse;  and  soon  there 
was  no  one  left  in  the  office  except  the  five  people  whom 
the  Prefect  had  originally  sent  for.  The  American  Secre- 
tary of  Embassy  and  the  Peruvian  attache,  considering 
their  continued  presence  unnecessary,  went  away,  after 
warmly  complimenting  Don  Luis  Perenna  on  his  powers 
of  penetration. 

Next  came  the  turn  of  Major  d'Astrignac,  who  shook 
his  former  subordinate  by  the  hand  with  obvious  affection. 
And  Maitre  Lepertuis  and  Perenna,  having  fixed  an  ap- 
pointment for  the  payment  of  the  legacy,  were  themselves 


A  MAN  DEAD  37 

on  the  point  of  leaving,  when  M.  Desmalions  entered 
briskly. 

"Ah,  so  you're  still  here,  Don  Luis  Perenna!  I'm  glad 
of  that.  I  have  an  idea:  those  three  letters  which  you 
say  you  made  out  on  the  writing-table,  are  you  sure  they 
form  the  syllable  Fau?" 

"I  think  so,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  See  for  yourself:  are 
not  these  an  *F,'  an  'A'  and  a  'U?'  And  observe  that 
the  *F*  is  a  capital,  which  made  me  suspect  that  the 
letters  are  the  first  syllable  of  a  proper  name." 

"Just  so,  just  so,"  said  M.  Desmalions.  "Well,  curi- 
ously enough,  that  syllable  happens  to  be But  wait, 

we'll  verify  our  facts " 

M.  Desmalions  searched  hurriedly  among  the  letters 
which  his  secretary  had  handed  him  on  his  arrival  and 
which  lay  on  a  corner  of  the  table. 

"Ah,  here  we  are!"  he  exclaimed,  glancing  at  the  sig- 
nature of  one  of  the  letters.  "Here  we  are!  It's  as  I 
thought:  'Fauville.'  .  .  .  The  first  syllable  is  the 
same.  .  .  .  Look,  'Fauville,'  just  like  that,  without 
Christian  name  or  initials.  The  letter  must  have  been 
written  in  a  feverish  moment:  there  is  no  date  nor  address. 
.  .  .  The  writing  is  shaky " 

And  M.  Desmalions  readout: 

"MONSIEUR  LE  PREFET: 

"A  great  danger  is  hanging  over  my  head  and  over  the  head 
of  my  son.  Death  is  approaching  apace.  I  shall  have  to-night, 
or  to-morrow  morning  at  the  latest,  the  proofs  of  the  abominable 
plot  that  threatens  us.  I  ask  leave  to  bring  them  to  you  in 
the  course  of  the  morning.  I  am  in  need  of  protection  and  I  call 
for  your  assistance. 

"Permit  me  to  be,  etc.  FAUVILLE." 


38  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"No  other  designation?"  asked  Perenna.  "No  letter- 
heading?" 

"None.  But  there  is  no  mistake.  Inspector  Verot's 
declarations  agree  too  evidently  with  this  despairing  ap- 
peal. It  is  clearly  M.  Fauville  and  his  son  who  are  to 
be  murdered  to-night.  And  the  terrible  thing  is  that,  as 
this  name  of  Fauville  is  a  very  common  one,  it  is  impossible 
for  our  inquiries  to  succeed  in  time." 

"What,  Monsieur  le  Prefet?  Surely,  by  straining 
every  nerve " 

"Certainly,  we  will  strain  every  nerve;  and  I  shall  set 
all  my  men  to  work.  But  observe  that  we  have  not  the 
slightest  clue." 

" Oh,  it  would  be  awful ! "  cried  Don  Luis.  "Those  two 
creatures  doomed  to  death;  and  we  unable  to  save  them! 
Monsieur  le  Prefet,  I  ask  you  to  authorize  me " 

He  had  not  finished  speaking  when  the  Prefect's  pri- 
vate secretary  entered  with  a  visiting-card  in  his  hand. 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  this  caller  was  so  persistent. 
.  .  .  I  hesitated " 

M.  Desmalions  took  the  card  and  uttered  an  exclama- 
tion of  mingled  surprise  and  joy. 

"Look,  Monsieur,"  he  said  to  Perenna. 

And  he  handed  him  the  card. 


Hippolyte  Fauville, 

Civil  Engineer. 
14  bis  Boulevard  Suchet. 


"Come,"  said  M.  Desmalions,  "chance  is  favouring  us. 
If  this  M.  Fauville  is  one  of  the  Roussel  heirs,  our  task 


becomes  very  much  easier." 


A  MAN  DEAD  39 

"In  any  case,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  the  solicitor  inter- 
posed, "I  must  remind  you  that  one  of  the  clauses  of  the 
will  stipulates  that  it  shall  not  be  read  until  forty-eight 
hours  have  elapsed.  M.  Fauville,  therefore,  must  not  be 
informed " 

The  door  was  pushed  open  and  a  man  hustled  the  mes- 
senger aside  and  rushed  in. 

"Inspector  .  .  .  Inspector  Verot?"  he  spluttered. 
"He's  dead,  isn't  he?  I  was  told " 

"Yes,  Monsieur,  he  is  dead." 

"Too  late!     I'm  too  late!"  he  stammered. 

And  he  sank  into  a  chair, clasping  his  hands  and  sobbing: 

"Oh,  the  scoundrels!  the  scoundrels!" 

He  was  a  pale,  hollow-cheeked,  sickly  looking  man  of 
about  fifty.  His  head  was  bald,  above  a  forehead  lined 
with  deep  wrinkles.  A  nervous  twitching  affected  his 
chin  and  the  lobes  of  his  ears.  Tears  stood  in  his  eyes. 

The  Prefect  asked: 

"Whom  do  you  mean,  Monsieur?  Inspector  Verot's 
murderers?  Are  you  able  to  name  them,  to  assist  our 
inquiry?" 

Hippolyte  Fauville  shook  his  head. 

"No,  no,  it  would  be  useless,  for  the  moment.  .  .  . 
My  proofs  would  not  be  sufficient.  .  .  .  No,  really 
not." 

He  had  already  risen  from  his  chair  and  stood  apolo- 
gizing: 

"  Monsieur  le  Prefet,!  have  disturbed  you  unnecessarily, 
but  I  wanted  to  know.  ...  I  was  hoping  that  In- 
spector Verot  might  have  escaped.  .  .  .  His  evidence, 
joined  to  mine,  would  have  been  invaluable.  But  per- 
haps he  was  able  to  tell  you?" 


40  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"No,  he  spoke  of  this  evening  —  of  to-night " 

Hippolyte  Fauville  started. 

"This  evening!  Then  the  time  has  come!  .  .  . 
But  no,  it's  impossible,  they  can't  do  anything  to  me  yet. 
.  .  .  They  are  not  ready " 

"Inspector  Verot  declared,  however,  that  the  double 
murder  would  be  committed  to-night." 

"No,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  he  was  wrong  there.  .  .  . 
I  know  all  about  it.  ...  To-morrow  evening  at  the 
earliest  .  .  and  we  will  catch  them  in  a  trap.  .  .  . 
Oh,  the  scoundrels ! " 

Don  Luis  went  up  to  him  and  asked: 

"Your  mother's  name  was  Ermeline  Roussel,  was  it 
not?" 

"Yes,  Ermeline  Roussel.     She  is  dead  now." 

"And  she  was  from  Saint-Etienne? " 

"Yes.     But  why  these  questions?" 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet  will  tell  you  to-morrow.  One 
word  more."  He  opened  the  cardboard  box  left  by  In- 
spector Verot.  "Does  this  cake  of  chocolate  mean  any- 
thing to  you?  These  marks?" 

"Oh,  how  awful!"  said  the  civil  engineer,  in  a  hoarse 
tone.  "Where  did  the  inspector  find  it?" 

He  dropped  into  his  chair  again,  but  only  for  a  mo- 
ment; then,  drawing  himself  up,  he  hurried  toward  the 
door  with  a  jerky  step. 

"  I'm  going,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  I'm  going.  To-morrow 
morning  I'll  show  you.  ...  I  shall  have  all  the 
proofs.  .  .  .  And  the  police  will  protect  me.  .  .  . 
I  am  ill,  I  know,  but  I  want  to  live!  I  have  the  right  to 
live  .  .  .  and  my  son,  too.  .  .  .  And  we  will 
live.  .  .  .  Oh,  the  scoundrels! " 


A  MAN  DEAD  41 

And  he  ran,  stumbling  out,  like  a  drunken  man. 

M.  Desmalions  rose  hastily. 

"  I  shall  have  inquiries  made  about  that  man's  circum- 
stances. ...  I  shall  have  his  house  watched.  I've 
telephoned  to  the  detective  office  already.  I'm  expecting 
some  one  in  whom  I  have  every  confidence.'* 

Don  Luis  said: 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  I  beg  you,  with  an  earnestness 
which  you  will  understand,  to  authorize  me  to  pursue  the 
investigation.  Cosmo  Mornington's  will  makes  it  my 
duty  and,  allow  me  to  say,  gives  me  the  right  to  do  so. 
M.  Fauville's  enemies  have  given  proofs  of  extraordinary 
tleverness  and  daring.  I  want  to  have  the  honour  of 
being  at  the  post  of  danger  to-night,  at  M.  Fauville's 
house,  near  his  person." 

The  Prefect  hesitated.  He  was  bound  to  reflect  how 
greatly  to  Don  Luis  Perenna's  interest  it  was  that  none 
of  the  Mornington  heirs  should  be  discovered,  or  at  least 
be  able  to  come  between  him  and  the  millions  of  the  in- 
heritance. Was  it  safe  to  attribute  to  a  noble  sentiment 
of  gratitude,  to  a  lofty  conception  of  friendship  and  duty, 
that  strange  longing  to  protect  Hippolyte  Fauville  against 
the  death  that  threatened  him? 

For  some  seconds  M.  Desmalions  watched  that  reso- 
lute face,  those  intelligent  eyes,  at  once  innocent  and 
satirical,  grave  and  smiling,  eyes  through  which  you  could 
certainly  not  penetrate  their  owner's  baffling  individuality, 
but  which  nevertheless  looked  at  you  with  an  expression 
of  absolute  frankness  and  sincerity.  Then  he  called  his 
secretary : 

"Has  any  one  come  from  the  detective  office?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet;  Sergeant  Mazeroux  is  here." 


42  THE  TEETIT  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Please  have  him  shown  in." 

And,  turning  to  Perenna: 

"Sergeant  Mazeroux  is  one  of  our  smartest  detectives. 
I  used  to  employ  him  together  with  that  poor  Verot 
when  I  wanted  any  one  more  than  ordinarily  active  and 
sharp.  He  will  be  of  great  use  to  you." 

Sergeant  Mazeroux  entered.  He  was  a  short,  lean,  wiry 
man,  whose  drooping  moustache,  heavy  eyelids,  watery  eyes,, 
and  long,  lank  hair  gave  him  a  most  doleful  appearance. 

"Mazeroux,"  said  the  Prefect,  "you  will  have  heard, 
by  this  time,  of  your  comrade  Verot's  death  and  of  the 
horrible  circumstances  attending  it.  We  must  now  avenge 
him  and  prevent  further  crimes.  This  gentleman,  who 
knows  the  case  from  end  to  end,  will  explain  all  that  is 
necessary.  You  will  work  with  him  and  report  to  me 
to-morrow  morning." 

This  meant  giving  a  free  hand  to  Don  Luis  Perenna 
and  relying  on  his  power  of  initiative  and  his  perspicacity. 
Don  Luis  bowed: 

"I  thank  you,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  I  hope  that  you 
will  have  no  reason  to  regret  the  trust  which  you  are 
good  enough  to  place  in  me." 

And,  taking  leave  of  M.  Desmalions  and  Maltre  Le- 
pertuis,  he  went  out  with  Sergeant  Mazeroux. 

As  soon  as  they  were  outside,  he  told  Mazeroux  what 
he  knew.  The  detective  seemed  much  impressed  by  his 
companion's  professional  gifts  and  quite  ready  to  be 
guided  by  his  views. 

They  decided  first  to  go  to  the  Cafe  du  Pont-Neuf. 
Here  they  learned  that  Inspector  Verot,  who  was  a  regular 
custoraer  of  the  place,  had  written  a  long  letter  there  that 


A  MAN  DEAD  43 

morning.  And  the  waiter  remembered  that  a  man  at 
the  next  table,  who  had  entered  the  cafe  at  almost  the 
same  time  as  the  inspector,  had  also  asked  for  writing- 
paper  and  called  twice  for  yellow  envelopes. 

"That's  it,"  said  Mazeroux  to  Don  Luis.  "As  you 
suspected,  one  letter  has  been  substituted  for  the  other." 

The  description  given  by  the  waiter  was  pretty  explicit: 
a  tall  man,  with  a  slight  stoop,  wearing  a  reddish-brown 
beard  cut  into  a  point,  a  tortoise-shell  eyeglass  with  a 
black  silk  ribbon,  and  an  ebony  walking-stick  with  a 
handle  shaped  like  a  swan's  head. 

"That's  something  for  the  police  to  go  upon,"  said 
Mazeroux. 

They  were  leaving  the  cafe  when  Don  Luis  stopped  his 
companion. 

"One  moment." 

"What's  the  matter?" 

"We've  been  followed." 

"Followed?     What  next?     And  by  whom,  pray?" 

"No  one  that  matters.  I  know  who  it  is  and  I  may  as 
well  settle  his  business  and  have  done  with  it.  Wait  for 
me.  I  shall  be  back;  and  I'll  show  you  some  fun.  You 
shall  see  one  of  the  'nuts,'  I  promise  you." 

He  returned  in  a  minute  with  a  tall,  thin  man  with  his 
face  set  in  whiskers.  He  introduced  him: 

"M.  Mazeroux,  a  friend  of  mine,  Senor  Caceres,  an 
attache  at  the  Peruvian  Legation.  Senor  Caceres  took 
part  in  thr  interview  at  the  Prefect's  just  now.  It  was 
he  who,  on  the  Peruvian  Minister's  instructions,  collected 
the  documents  bearing  upon  my  identity."  And  he  added 
gayly:  "So  you  were  looking  for  me,  dear  Senor  Caceres. 
Indeed,  I  expected,  when  we  left  the  police  office " 


44 

The  Peruvian  attache  made  a  sign  and  pointed  to  Ser- 
geant Mazeroux.  Perenna  replied: 

"Oh,  pray  don't  mind  M.  Mazeroux!  You  can  speak 
before  him;  he  is  the  soul  of  discretion.  Besides,  he  knows 
all  about  the  business." 

The  attache  was  silent.  Perenna  made  him  sit  down 
in  front  of  him. 

"Speak  without  beating  about  the  bush,  dear  Seiior 
Caceres.  It's  a  subject  that  calls  for  plain  dealing;  and 
I  don't  mind  a  blunt  word  or  two.  It  saves  such  a  lot 
of  time!  Come  on.  You  want  money,  I  suppose?  Or, 
rather,  more  money.  How  much?" 

The  Peruvian  had  a  final  hesitation,  gave  a  glance  at 
Don  Luis's  companion,  and  then,  suddenly  making  up  his 
mind,  said  in  a  dull  voice: 

"Fifty  thousand  francs!" 

"Oh,  by  Jove,  by  Jove!"  cried  Don  Luis.  "You're 
greedy,  you  know!  What  do  you  say,  M.  Mazeroux? 
Fifty  thousand  francs  is  a  lot  of  money.  Especially  as 

Look  here,  my  dear  Caceres,  let's  go  over  the  ground 

again. 

"Three  years  ago  I  had  the  honour  of  making  your 
acquaintance  in  Algeria,  when  you  were  touring  the  coun- 
try. At  the  same  time,  I  understood  the  sort  of  man  you 
were;  and  I  asked  you  if  you  could  manage,  in  three  years, 
with  my  name  of  Perenna,  to  fix  me  up  a  Spanish-Peru- 
vian identity,  furnished  with  unquestionable  papers  and 
respectable  ancestors.  You  said,  'Yes/  We  settled  the 
price:  twenty  thousand  francs.  Last  week,  when  the 
Prefect  of  Police  asked  me  for  my  papers,  I  came  to  see 
you  and  learned  that  you  had  just  been  instructed  to 
make  inquiries  into  my  antecedents. 


A  MAN  DEAD  45 

"Everything  was  ready,  as  it  happened.  With  the 
papers  of  a  deceased  Peruvian  nobleman,  of  the  name  of 
Pereira,  properly  revised,  you  had  faked  me  up  a  first- 
rate  civic  status.  We  arranged  what  you  were  to  say 
before  the  Prefect  of  Police;  and  I  paid  up  the  twenty 
thousand.  We  were  quits.  What  more  do  you  want?" 

The  Pervian  attache  did  not  betray  the  least  embarrass- 
ment. He  put  his  two  elbows  on  the  table  and  said,  very 
calmly: 

"Monsieur,  when  treating  with  you,  three  years  ago, 
I  thought  I  was  dealing  with  a  gentleman  who,  hiding 
himself  under  the  uniform  of  the  Foreign  Legion,  wished 
to  recover  the  means  to  live  respectably  afterward.  To- 
day, I  have  to  do  with  the  universal  legatee  of  Cosmo 
Mornington,  with  a  man  who,  to-morrow,  under  a  false 
name,  will  receive  the  sum  of  one  million  francs  and,  in 
a  few  months,  perhaps,  the  sum  of  a  hundred  millions. 
That's  quite  a  different  thing." 

The  argument  seemed  to  strike  Don  Luis.  Neverthe- 
less, he  objected: 

"And,  if  I  refuse ?" 

"If  you  refuse,  I  shall  inform  the  solicitor  and  the 
Prefect  of  Police  that  I  made  an  error  in  my  inquiry  and 
that  there  is  some  mistake  about  Don  Luis  Perenna.  In 
consequence  of  which  you  will  receive  nothing  at  all  and 
very  likely  find  yourself  in  jail." 

"With  you,  my  worthy  sir." 

"Me?" 

"Of  course:  on  a  charge  of  forgery  and  tampering  with 
registers.  For  you  don't  imagine  that  I  should  take  it 
lying  down." 

The  attache  did  not  reply.    His  nose,  which  was  a 


46  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

very  big  one,  seemed  to  lengthen  out  still  farther  between 
his  two  long  whiskers. 

Don  Luis  began  to  laugh. 

"Come,  Senor  Caceres,  don't  pull  such  a  face!  No 
one's  going  to  hurt  you.  Only  don't  think  that  you  can 
corner  me.  Better  men  than  you  have  tried  and  have 
broken  their  backs  in  the  process.  And,  upon  my  word, 
you  don't  cut  much  of  a  figure  when  you're  doing  your 
best  to  diddle  your  fellowmen. 

"  You  look  a  bit  of  a  mug,  in  fact,  Caceres :  a  bit  of  a  mug 
is  what  you  look.  So  it's  understood,  what?  We  lay  down 
ourarms.  No  more  base  designs  against  our  excellent  friend 
Perenna.  Capital,  Senor  Caceres,  capital.  And  now  I'll 
be  magnanimous  and  prove  to  you  that  the  decent  man  of 
us  two  is  —  the  one  whom  any  one  would  have  thought ! " 

He  produced  a  check-book  on  the  Credit  Lyonnais. 

"Here,  my  dear  chap.  Here's  twenty  thousand  francs 
as  a  present  from  Cosmo  Mornington's  legatee.  Put  it 
in  your  pocket  and  look  pleasant.  Say  thank  you  to  the 
kind  gentleman,  and  make  yourself  scarce  without  turn- 
ing your  head  any  more  than  if  you  were  one  of  old  man 
Lot's  daughters.  Off  you  go:  hoosh!" 

This  was  said  in  such  a  manner  that  the  attache  obeyed 
Don  Luis  Perenna's  injunctions  to  the  letter.  He  smiled 
as  he  pocketed  the  check,  said  thank  you  twice  over,  and 
made  off  without  turning  his  head. 

"The  low  hound ! "  muttered  Don  Luis.  "  What  do  you 
say  to  that,  Sergeant?" 

Sergeant  Mazeroux  was  looking  at  him  in  stupefaction, 
with  his  eyes  starting  from  his  head. 

"Well,  but,  Monsieur " 

"What,  Sergeant?" 


A  MAN  DEAD  47 

"Well,  but,  Monsieur,  who  are  you?" 

"Who  am  I?" 

"Yes." 

"Didn't  they  tell  you?  A  Peruvian  nobleman,  or  a 
Spanish  nobleman,  I  don't  know  which.  In  short,  Don 
Luis  Perenna." 

"Bunkum!     I've  just  heard " 

"Don  Luis  Perenna,  late  of  the  Foreign  Legion." 

"Enough  of  that,  Monsieur " 

"Medaled  and  decorated  with  a  stripe  on  every  seam." 

"Once  more,  Monsieur,  enough  of  that;  and  come  along 
with  me  to  the  Prefect." 

"But,  let  me  finish,  hang  it!     I  was  saying,  late  pri- 
vate in  the  Foreign  Legion.     .     .     .     Late  hero.     .     .     . 
Late  prisoner  of  the  Surete.     .     .     .     Late  Russian  prince. 
.     .     .    Late  chief  of  the  detective  service. 
Late " 

"But  you're  mad!"  snarled  the  sergeant.  "What's 
all  this  story?" 

"It's  a  true  story,  Sergeant,  and  quite  genuine.  You 
ask  me  who  I  am;  and  I'm  telling  you  categorically. 
Must  I  go  farther  back?  I  have  still  more  titles  to  offer 
you:  marquis,  baron,  duke,  archduke,  grand-duke,  petty- 
duke,  superduke  —  the  whole  'Almanach  de  Gotha/  by 
Jingo !  If  any  one  told  me  that  I  had  been  a  king,  by  all 
that's  holy,  I  shouldn't  dare  swear  to  the  contrary!" 

Sergeant  Mazeroux  put  out  his  own  hands,  accustomed 
to  rough  work,  seized  the  seemingly  frail  wrists  of  the 
man  addressing  him  and  said: 

"No  nonsense,  now.  I  don't  know  whom  I've  got 
hold  of,  but  I  shan't  let  you  go.  You  can  say  what  you 
have  to  say  at  the  Prefect's." 


48  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Don't  speak  so  loud,  Alexandre." 

The  two  frail  wrists  were  released  with  unparalleled 
ease;  the  sergeant's  powerful  hands  were  caught  and  ren- 
dered useless;  and  Don  Luis  grinned: 

"Don't  you  know  me,  you  idiot?" 

Sergeant  Mazeroux  did  not  utter  a  word.  His  eyes 
started  still  farther  from  his  head.  He  tried  to  under- 
stand and  remained  absolutely  dumfounded. 

The  sound  of  that  voice,  that  way  of  jesting,  that 
schoolboy  playfulness  allied  with  that  audacity,  the  quiz- 
zing expression  of  those  eyes,  and  lastly  that  Christian 
name  of  Alexandre,  which  was  not  his  name  at  all  and 
which  only  one  person  used  to  give  him,  years  ago.  Was 
it  possible? 

"The  chief!"  he  stammered.     "The  chief!" 

"Why  not?" 

"No,  no,  because " 

"Because  what?" 

"Because  you're  dead." 

"Well,  what  about  it?  D'you  think  it  interferes  with 
my  living,  being  dead?" 

And,  as  the  other  seemed  more  and  more  perplexed,  he 
laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  said: 

"Who  put  you  into  the  police  office?" 

"The  Chief  Detective,  M.  Lenormand." 

"And  who  was  M.  Lenormand?" 

"The  chief." 

"You  mean  Arsene  Lupin,  don't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  Alexandre,  don't  you  know  that  it  was  much 
more  difficult  for  Arsene  Lupin  to  be  Chief  Detective  — 
and  a  masterly  Chief  Detective  he  was  —  than  to  be 


A  MAN  DEAD  49 

Don  Luis  Perenna,  to  be  decorated  in  the  Foreign  Legion, 
to  be  a  hero,  and  even  to  be  alive  after  he  was  dead?" 

Sergeant  Mazeroux  examined  his  companion  in  silence. 
Then  his  lacklustre  eyes  brightened,  his  drab  features 
turned  scarlet  and,  suddenly  striking  the  table  with  his 
fist,  he  growled,  in  an  angry  voice: 

"  All  right,  very  well !  But  I  warn  you  that  you  mustn't 
reckon  on  me.  No,  not  that!  I'm  in  the  detective  ser- 
vice; and  in  the  detective  service  I  remain.  Nothing 
doing.  I've  tasted  honesty  and  I  mean  to  eat  no  other 
bread.  No,  no,  no,  no!  No  more  humbug!" 

Perenna  shrugged  his  shoulders: 

"Alexandre,  you're  an  ass.  Upon  my  word,  the  bread 
of  honesty  hasn't  enlarged  your  intelligence.  Who  talked 
of  starting  again?" 

"But " 

"But  what?" 

"All  your  maneuvers,  Chief." 

"My  maneuvers!  Do  you  think  I  have  anything  to 
cay  to  this  business?" 

"Look  here,  Chief  - 

"Why,  I'm  out  of  it  altogether,  my  lad!  Two  hours 
ago  I  knew  no  more  about  it  than  you  do.  It's  Provi- 
dence that  chucked  this  legacy  at  me,  without  so  much 
as  shouting,  'Heads!'  And  it's  in  obedience  to  the  de- 
crees of  " 

"Then ?" 

"It's  my  mission  in  life  to  avenge  Cosmo  Mornington,  to 
find  his  natural  heirs,  to  protect  them  and  to  divide  among 
them  the  hundred  millions  that  belong  to  them.  That's 
all.  Don't  you  call  that  the  mission  of  an  honest  man?  " 

"Yes,  but " 


50  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Yes,  but,  if  I  don't  fulfil  it  as  an  honest  man:  is  that 
what  you  mean?" 

"Chief " 

"Well,  my  lad,  if  you  notice  the  least  thing  in  my  con- 
duct that  dissatisfies  you,  if  you  discover  a  speck  of  black 
on  Don  Luis  Perenna's  conscience,  examined  under  the 
magnifying  glass,  don't  hesitate:  collar  me  with  both 
hands.  I  authorize  you  to  do  it.  I  order  you  to  do  it. 
Is  that  enough  for  you?" 

"It's  not  enough  for  it  to  be  enough  for  me,  Chief." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?" 

"There  are  the  others." 

"Explain  yourself." 

"Suppose  you're  nabbed?" 

"How?" 

"You  can  be  betrayed." 

"By  whom?" 

"Your  old  mates." 

"  Gone  away.    I've  sent  them  out  of  France." 

"Whereto?" 

"That's  my  secret.  I  left  you  at  the  police  office,  in 
case  I  should  require  your  services;  and  you  see  that  I 
was  right." 

"But  suppose  the  police  discover  your  real  identity?" 

"Well?" 

"They'll  arrest  you." 

"Impossible!" 

"Why?" 

"They  can't  arrest  me." 

"For  what  reason?" 

"You've  said  it  yourself,  fat-head:  a  first-class,  tremen- 
dous, indisputable  reason." 


A  MAN  DEAD  51 

"What  do  you  mean?" 


Mazeroux  seemed  staggered.  The  argument  struck 
him  fully.  He  at  once  perceived  it,  with  all  its  common 
sense  and  all  its  absurdity.  And  suddenly  he  burst  into 
a  roar  of  laughter  which  bent  him  in  two  and  convulsed 
his  doleful  features  in  the  oddest  fashion: 

"Oh,  Chief,  just  the  same  as  always!  .  .  .  Lord, 
how  funny!  ...  Will  I  come  along?  I  should  think 
I  would!  As  often  as  you  like!  You're  dead  and  buried 
and  put  out  of  sight!  .  .  .  Oh,  what  a  joke,  what  a 
joke!" 

Hippolyte  Fauville,  civil  engineer,  lived  on  the  Boule- 
vard Suchet,  near  the  fortifications,  in  a  fair-sized  private 
house  having  on  its  left  a  small  garden  in  which  he  had 
built  a  large  room  that  served  as  his  study.  The  garden 
was  thus  reduced  to  a  few  trees  and  to  a  strip  of  grass 
along  the  railings,  which  were  covered  with  ivy  and  con- 
tained a  gate  that  opened  on  the  Boulevard  Suchet. 

Don  Luis  Perenna  went  with  Mazeroux  to  the  com- 
missary's office  at  Passy,  where  Mazeroux,  on  Perenna's 
instructions,  gave  his  name  and  asked  to  have  M.  Fau- 
ville's  house  watched  during  the  night  by  two  policemen 
who  were  to  arrest  any  suspicious  person  trying  to  obtain 
admission.  The  commissary  agreed  to  the  request. 

Don  Luis  and  Mazeroux  next  dined  in  the  neighbour- 
hood. At  nine  o'clock  they  reached  the  front  door  of  the 
house. 

"Alexandra,"  said  Perenna. 

"Yes,  Chief?" 

"You're  not  afraid?" 


52  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"No,  Chief.    Why  should  I  be? " 

"Why?  Because,  in  defending  M.  Fauville  and  his 
son,  we  are  attacking  people  who  have  a  great  interest  in 
doing  away  with  them  and  because  those  people  seem 
pretty  wide-awake.  Your  life,  my  life:  a  breath,  a  trifle. 
You're  not  afraid?" 

"Chief,"  replied  Mazeroux,  "I  can't  say  if  I  shall  ever 
know  what  it  means  to  be  afraid.  But  there's  one  case 
in  which  I  certainly  shall  never  know." 

"What  case  is  that,  old  chap?" 

"As  long  as  I'm  by  your  side,  Chief." 

And  firmly  he  rang  the  bell. 


I 


CHAPTER  THREE 

A  MAN   DOOMED 

f  |  AHE  door  was  opened  by  a  manservant.    Mazeroux 
sent  in  his  card. 

Hippolyte  received  the  two  visitors  in  his  study. 
The  table,  on  which  stood  a  movable  telephone,  was  lit- 
tered with  books,  pamphlets,  and  papers.  There  were 
two  tall  desks,  with  diagrams  and  drawings,  and  some 
glass  cases  containing  reduced  models,  in  ivory  and  steel, 
of  apparatus  constructed  or  invented  by  the  engineer. 

A  large  sofa  stood  against  the  wall.  In  one  corner  was 
a  winding  staircase  that  led  to  a  circular  gallery.  An 
electric  chandelier  hung  from  the  ceiling. 

Mazeroux,  after  stating  his  quality  and  introducing 
his  friend  Perenna  as  also  sent  by  the  Prefect  of  Police, 
at  once  expounded  the  object  of  their  visit. 

M.  Desmalions,  he  said,  was  feeling  anxious  on  the 
score  of  very  serious  indications  which  he  had  just  re- 
ceived and,  without  waiting  for  the  next  day's  interview, 
begged  M.  Fauville  to  take  all  the  precautions  which  his 
detectives  might  advise. 

Fauville  at  first  displayed  a  certain  ill  humour. 

"My  precautions  are  taken,  gentlemen,  and  well  taken. 
And,  on  the  other  hand,  I  am  afraid  that  your  interfer- 
ence may  do  harm." 

"In  what  way?" 

£3 


54  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"By  arousing  the  attention  of  my  enemies  and  pre- 
venting me,  for  that  reason,  from  collecting  proofs  which 
I  need  in  order  to  confound  them." 

"Can  you  explain ?" 

"No,  I  cannot  .  .  .  To-morrow,  to-morrow  morn* 
ing  —  not  before." 

"And  if  it's  too  late?"  Don  Luis  interjected. 

"Too  late?    To-morrow?" 

"Inspector  Verot  told  M.  Desmalions's  secretary  that 
the  two  murders  would  take  place  to-night.  He  said  it 
was  fatal  and  irrevocable." 

"To-night?"  cried  Fauville  angrily.  "I  tell  you  no! 
Not  to-night.  I'm  sure  of  that.  There  are  things  which 
I  know,  aren't  there,  which  you  do  not?" 

"Yes,"  retorted  Don  Luis,  "but  there  may  also  be 
things  which  Inspector  Verot  knew  and  which  you  don't 
know.  He  had  perhaps  learned  more  of  your  enemies' 
secrets  than  you  did.  The  proof  is  that  he  was  suspected, 
that  a  man  carrying  an  ebony  walking-stick  was  seen 
watching  his  movements,  that,  lastly,  he  was  killed." 

Hippolyte  Fauville's  self-assurance  decreased.  Perenna 
took  advantage  of  this  to  insist;  and  he  insisted  to 
such  good  purpose  that  Fauville,  though  without  with- 
drawing from  his  reserve,  ended  by  yielding  before  a  will 
that  was  stronger  than  his  own. 

"Well,  but  you  surely  don't  intend  to  spend  the  night 
in  here?" 

"We  do  indeed." 

"  Why,  it's  ridiculous !  It's  sheer  waste  of  time !  After 

all,  looking  at  things  from  the  worst And  what  do 

you  want  besides?" 

"Who  lives  in  the  house?" 


A  MAN  DOOMED  55 

"Who?  My  wife,  to  begin  with.  She  has  the  first 
floor." 

"Mme.  Fauville  is  not  threatened?" 

"No,  not  at  all.  It's  I  who  am  threatened  with  death; 
I  and  my  son  Edmond.  That  is  why,  for  the  past  week, 
instead  of  sleeping  in  my  regular  bedroom,  I  have  locked 
myself  up  in  this  room.  I  have  given  my  work  as  a  pre- 
text; a  quantity  of  writing  which  keeps  me  up  very  late 
and  for  which  I  need  my  son's  assistance." 

"Does  he  sleep  here,  then?" 

"He  sleeps  above  us,  in  a  little  room  which  I  have  had 
arranged  for  him.  The  only  access  to  it  is  by  this  inner 
staircase." 

"Is  he  there  now?" 

"Yes,  he's  asleep." 

"How  old  is  he?" 

"Sixteen." 

"But  the  fact  that  you  have  changed  your  room  shows 
that  you  feared  some  one  would  attack  you.  Whom  had 
you  in  mind?  An  enemy  living  in  the  house?  One  of 
your  servants?  Or  people  from  the  outside?  In  that 
case,  how  could  they  get  in?  The  whole  question  lies  in 
that." 

"To-morrow,  to-morrow,"  replied  Fauville,  obstinately. 
"I  will  explain  everything  to-morrow " 

"Why  not  to-night?"  Perenna  persisted. 

"Because  I  want  proofs,  I  tell  you;  because  the  mere 
fact  of  my  talking  may  have  terrible  consequences  — 
and  I  am  frightened;  yes,  I'm  frightened " 

He  was  trembling,  in  fact,  and  looked  so  wretched  and 
terrified  that  Don  Luis  insisted  no  longer. 

"Very  well,"  he  said,  "I  will  only  ask  your  permission, 


56  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

for  my  comrade  and  myself,  to  spend  the  night  where 
we  can  hear  you  if  you  call." 

"As  you  please,  Monsieur.  Perhaps,  after  all,  that  will 
be  best." 

At  that  moment  one  of  the  servants  knocked  and  came 
in  to  say  that  his  mistress  wished  to  see  the  master  before 
she  went  out.  Madame  Fauville  entered  almost  imme- 
diately. She  bowed  pleasantly  as  Perenna  and  Mazeroux 
rose  from  their  chairs. 

She  was  a  woman  between  thirty  and  thirty-five,  a 
woman  of  a  bright  and  smiling  beauty,  which  she  owed 
to  her  blue  eyes,  to  her  wavy  hair,  to  all  the  charm  of  her 
rather  vapid  but  amiable  and  very  pretty  face.  She 
wore  a  long,  figured-silk  cloak  over  an  evening  dress  that 
showed  her.  fine  shoulders. 

Her  husband  said,  in  surprise 

"Are  you  going  out  to-night?" 

"You  forget,"  she  said.  "The  Auverards  offered  me 
a  seat  in  their  box  at  the  opera;  and  you  yourself  asked 
me  to  look  in  at  Mme.  d'Ersingen's  party  afterward " 

"So  I  did,  so  I  did,"  he  said.  "It  escaped  my  memory; 
I  am  working  so  hard."  / 

She  finished  buttoning  her  gloves  and  asked: 

"  Won't  you  come  and  fetch  me  at  Mme.  d  'Ersingen's? " 

"What  for?" 

"They  would  like  it." 

"But  I  shouldn't.    Besides,  I  don't  feel  well  enough." 

"Then  I'll  make  your  apologies  for  you." 

"Yes,  do." 

She  drew  her  cloak  around  her  with  a  graceful  gesture, 
and  stood  for  a  few  moments,  without  moving,  as  though 
seeking  a  word  of  farewell.  Then  she  said: 


A  MAN  DOOMED  57 

"Edmond's  not  here!  I  thought  he  was  working  with 
you?" 

"He  was  feeling  tired." 

"Is  he  asleep?" 

"Yes." 

"I  wanted  to  kiss  him  good-night." 

"No,  you  would  only  wake  him.  And  here's  your  car; 
so  go,  dear.  Amuse  yourself." 

"Oh,  amuse  myself!"  she  said.  "There's  not  much 
amusement  about  the  opera  and  an  evening  party." 

"Still,  it's  better  than  keeping  one's  room." 

There  was  some  little  constraint.  It  was  obviously 
one  of  those  ill-assorted  households  in  which  the  husband, 
suffering  in  health  and  not  caring  for  the  pleasures  of 
society,  stays  at  home,  while  the  wife  seeks  the  enjoy- 
ments to  which  her  age  and  habits  entitle  her. 

As  he  said  nothing  more,  she  bent  over  and  kissed 
him  on  the  forehead.  Then,'  once  more  bowing  to  the 
two  visitors,  she  went  out.  A  moment  later  they  heard 
the  sound  of  the  motor  driving  away. 

Hippolyte  Fauville  at  once  rose  and  rang  the  bell, 
Then  he  said: 

"No  one  here  has  any  idea  of  the  danger  hanging  over 
me.  I  have  confided  in  nobody,  not  even  in  Silvestre, 
my  own  man,  though  he  has  been  in  my  service  for  years 
and  is  honesty  itself." 

The  manservant  entered. 

"I  am  going  to  bed,  Silvestre,"  said  M.  Fauville. 
"Get  everything  ready." 

Silvestre  opened  the  upper  part  of  the  great  sofa, 
which  made  a  comfortable  bed,  and  laid  the  sheets 
and  blankets.  Next,  at  his  master's  orders,  he  brought 


58  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

a  jug  of  water,  a  glass,  a  plate  of  biscuits,  and  a  dish  of 
fruit. 

M.  Fauville  ate  a  couple  of  biscuits  and  then  cut  a 
dessert-apple.  It  was  not  ripe.  He  took  two  others, 
felt  them,  and,  not  thinking  them  good,  put  them  back 
as  well.  Then  he  peeled  a  pear  and  ate  it. 

"You  can  leave  the  fruit  dish,"  he  said  to  his  man. 
"I  shall  be  glad  of  it,  if  I  am  hungry  during  the  night. 
.  .  .  Oh,  I  was  forgetting!  These  two  gentlemen  are 
staying.  Don't  mention  it  to  anybody.  And,  in  the 
morning,  don't  come  until  I  ring." 

The  man  placed  the  fruit  dish  on  the  table  before  retir- 
ing. Perenna,  who  was  noticing  everything,  and  who 
was  afterward  to  remember  every  smallest  detail  of  that 
evening,  which  his  memory  recorded  with  a  sort  of  me- 
chanical faithfulness,  counted  three  pears  and  four  apples 
in  the  dish. 

Meanwhile,  Fauville  went  up  the  winding  staircase,  and, 
going  along  the  gallery,  reached  the  room  where  his  son 
lay  in  bed. 

"  He's  fast  asleep,"  he  said  to  Perenna,  who  had  joined  him. 

The  bedroom  was  a  small  one.  The  air  was  admitted 
by  a  special  system  of  ventilation,  for  the  dormer  win- 
dow was  hermetically  closed  by  a  wooden  shutter  tightly 
nailed  down. 

"I  took  the  precaution  last  year,"  Hippolyte  Fauville 
explained.  "I  used  to  make  my  electrical  experiments 
in  this  room  and  was  afraid  of  being  spied  upon,  so  I 
closed  the  aperture  opening  on  the  roof." 

And  he  added  in  a  low  voice: 

"They  have  been  prowling  around  me  for  a  long  time." 

The  two  men  went  downstairs  again. 


A  MAN  DOOMED  59 

Fauville  looked  at  his  watch. 

"A  quarter  past  ten :  bedtime.  I  am  exceedingly  tired, 
and  you  will  excuse  me " 

It  was  arranged  that  Perenna  and  Mazeroux  should 
make  themselves  comfortable  in  a  couple  of  easy  chairs 
which  they  carried  into  the  passage  between  the  study 
and  the  entrance  hall.  But,  before  bidding  them  good- 
night, Hippolyte  Fauville,  who,  although  greatly  excited, 
had  appeared  until  then  to  retain  his  self-control,  was 
seized  with  a  sudden  attack  of  weakness.  He  uttered  a 
faint  cry.  Don  Luis  turned  round  and  saw  the  sweat 
pouring  like  gleaming  water  down  his  face  and  neck, 
while  he  shook  with  fever  and  anguish. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Perenna. 

"I'm  frightened!     I'm  frightened!"  he  said. 

"This  is  madness!"  cried  Don  Luis.  "Aren't  we  here, 
the  two  of  us?  We  can  easily  spend  the  night  with  you, 
if  you  prefer,  by  your  bedside." 

Fauville  replied  by  shaking  Perenna  violently  by  the 
shoulder,  and,  with  distorted  featurs,  stammering: 

"If  there  were  ten  of  you  —  if  there  were  twenty  of 
you  with  me,  you  need  not  think  that  it  would  spoil  their 
schemes!  They  can  do  anything  they  please,  do  you 
hear,  anything!  They  have  already  killed  Inspector 
Verot  —  they  will  kill  me  —  and  they  will  kill  my  son. 
Oh,  the  blackguards!  My  God,  take  pity  on  me!  The 
awful  terror  of  it!  The  pain  I  suffer!"  / 

He  had  fallen  on  his  knees  and  was  striking  his  breast 
and  repeating: 

"O  God,  have  pity  on  me!  I  can't  die!  I  can't  let 
my  son  die!  Have  pity  on  me,  I  beseech  Thee!" 


60  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

He  sprang  to  his  feet  and  led  Perenna  to  a  glass-fronted 
case,  which  he  rolled  back  on  its  brass  castors,  revealing 
a  small  safe  built  into  the  wall. 

"You  will  find  my  whole  story  here,  written  up  day 
by  day  for  the  past  three  years.  If  anything  should 
happen  to  me,  revenge  will  be  easy." 

He  hurriedly  turned  the  letters  of  the  padlock  and, 
with  a  key  which  he  took  from  his  pocket,  opened  the 
safe. 

It  was  three  fourths  empty;  but  on  one  of  the  shelves, 
between  some  piles  of  papers,  was  a  diary  bound  in  drab 
cloth,  with  a  rubber  band  round  it.  He  took  the  diary, 
and,  emphasizing  his  words,  said: 

"There,  look,  it's  all  hi  here.  With  this,  the  hideous 
business  can  be  reconstructed.  .  .  .  There  are  my 
suspicions  first  and  then  my  certainties.  .  .  .  Every- 
thing, everything  .  .  .  how  to  trap  them  and  how 
to  do  for  them.  .  .  .  You'll  remember,  won't  you? 
A  diary  bound  in  drab  cloth.  .  .  .  I'm  putting  it 
back  in  the  safe." 

Gradually  his  calmness  returned.  He  pushed  back  the 
glass  case,  tidied  a  few  papers,  switched  on  the  electric 
lamp  above  his  bed,  put  out  the  lights  in  the  middle  of  the 
ceiling,  and  asked  Don  Luis  and  Mazeroux  to  leave  him. 

Don  Luis,  who  was  walking  round  the  room  and  ex- 
amining the  iron  shutters  of  the  two  windows,  noticed  a 
door  opposite  the  entrance  door  and  asked  the  engineer 
about  it. 

"I  use  it  for  my"  regular  clients,"  said  Fauville,  "and 
sometimes  I  go  out  that  way." 

"Does  it  open  on  the  garden?" 

"Yes." 


A  MAN  DOOMED  61 

"Is  it  properly  closed?" 

" You  can  see  for  yourself;  it's  locked  and  bolted  with  a 
safety  bolt.  Both  keys  are  on  my  bunch;  so  is  the  key 
of  the  garden  gate." 

He  placed  the  bunch  of  keys  on  the  table  with  his 
pocket-book  and,  after  first  winding  it,  his  watch. 

Don  Luis,  without  troubling  to  ask  permission,  took 
the  keys  and  unfastened  the  lock  and  the  bolt.  A  flight 
of  three  steps  brought  him  to  the  garden.  He  followed 
the  length  of  the  narrow  border.  Through  the  ivy  he  saw 
and  heard  the  two  policemen  pacing  up  and  down  the 
boulevard.  He  tried  the  lock  of  the  gate.  It  was  fas- 
tened. 

"Everything's  all  right,"  he  said  when  he  returned, 
"and  you  can  be  easy.  Good-night." 

"Good-night,"  said  the  engineer,  seeing  Perenna  and 
Mazeroux  out. 

Between  his  study  and  the  passage  were  two  doors,  one 
of  which  was  padded  and  covered  with  oilcloth.  On  the 
other  side,  the  passage  was  separated  from  the  hall  by  a 
heavy  curtain. 

"You  can  go  to  sleep,"  said  Perenna  to  his  companion. 
"I'll  sit  up." 

"But  surely,  Chief,  you  don't  think  that  any  thing's 
going  to  happen!" 

"I  don't  think  so,  seeing  the  precautions  which  we've 
taken.  But,  knowing  Inspector  Verot  as  you  did,  do  you 
think  he  was  the  man  to  imagine  things?" 

"No,  Chief." 

"Well,  you  know  what  he  prophesied.  That  means 
that  he  had  his  reasons  for  doing  so.  And  therefore  I 
shall  keep  my  eyes  open." 


62  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"We'll  take  it  in  turns,  Chief;  wake  me  when  it's  my 
time  to  watch." 

Seated  motionlessly,  side  by  side,  they  exchanged  an 
occasional  remark.  Soon  after,  Mazeroux  fell  asleep. 
Don  Luis  remained  in  his  chair  without  moving,  his  ears 
pricked  up.  Everything  was  quiet  in  the  house.  Out- 
side, from  time  to  time,  the  sound  of  a  motor  car  or  of  a 
cab  rolled  by  .  He  could  also  hear  the  late  trains  on  the 
Auteuil  line. 

He  rose  several  times  and  went  up  to  the  door.  Not  a 
sound.  Hippolyte  Fauville  was  evidently  asleep. 

"Capital!"  said  Perenna  to  himself.  "The  boulevard 
is  watched.  No  one  can  enter  the  room  except  by  this 
way.  So  there  is  nothing  to  fear." 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  a  car  stopped  outside 
the  house,  and  one  of  the  manservants,  who  must  have 
been  waiting  in  the  kitchen,  hastened  to  the  front  door. 
Perenna  switched  off  the  light  in  the  passage,  and,  draw- 
ing the  curtain  slightly  aside,  saw  Mme.  Fauville  enter, 
followed  by  Silvestre. 

She  went  up.  The  lights  on  the  staircase  were  put  out. 
For  half  an  hour  or  so  there  was  a  sound  overhead  of 
voices  and  of  chairs  moving.  Then  all  was  silence. 

And,  amid  this  silence,  Perenna  felt  an  unspeakable 
anguish  arise  within  him,  he  could  not  tell  why.  But  it 
was  so  violent,  the  impression  became  so  acute,  that  he 
muttered: 

"I  shall  go  and  see  if  he's  asleep.  I  don't  expect  that 
he  has  bolted  the  doors." 

He  had  only  to  push  both  doors  to  open  them;  and, 
with  his  electric  lantern  in  his  hand,  he  went  up  to  the  bed. 


A  MAN  DOOMED  63 

Hippolyte  Fauville  was  sleeping  with  his  face  turned 
to  the  wall. 

Perenna  gave  a  smile  of  relief.  He  returned  to  the 
passage  and,  shaking  Mazeroux: 

"Your  turn,  Alexandre." 

"No  news,  Chief?" 

"No,  none;  he's  asleep." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"I've  had  a  look  at  him." 

"That's  funny;  I  never  heard  you.  It's  true,  though, 
I've  slept  like  a  pig." 

He  followed  Perenna  into  the  study,  and  Perenna  said: 

"Sit  down  and  don't  wake  him.  I  shall  take  forty 
winks." 

He  had  one  more  turn  at  sentry  duty.  But,  even  while 
dozing,  he  remained  conscious  of  all  that  happened  around 
him.  A  clock  struck  the  hours  with  a  low  chime;  and 
each  time  Perenna  counted  the  strokes.  Then  came  the 
life  outside  awakening,  the  rattle  of  the  milk-carts,  the 
whistle  of  the  early  suburban  trains. 

People  began  to  stir  inside  the  house.  The  daylight 
trickled  in  through  the  crannies  of  the  shutters,  and  the 
room  gradually  became  filled  with  light. 

"Let's  go  away,"  said  Sergeant  Mazeroux.  "It  would 
be  better  for  him  not  to  find  us  here." 

"Hold  your  tongue!"  said  Don  Luis,  with  an  imperious 
gesture. 

"Why?" 

"You'll  wake  him  up." 

"But  you  can  see  I'm  not  waking  him,"  said  Mazeroux, 
without  lowering  his  tone. 

"That's  true,  that's  true,"  whispered  Don  Luis,  aston- 


64  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

ished  that  the  sound  of  that  voice  had  not  disturbed  thfc 
sleeper. 

And  he  felt  himself  overcome  with  the  same  anguish  that 
had  seized  upon  him  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  a  more 
clearly  defined  anguish,  although  he  would  not,  although 
he  dared  not,  try  to  realize  the  reason  of  it. 

" What's  the  matter  with  you,  Chief?  You're  looking 
like  nothing  on  earth.  What  is  it?  " 

"Nothing  —  nothing.     I'm  frightened " 

Mazeroux  shuddered. 

"Frightened  of  what?  You  say  that  just  as  he  did 
last  night." 

"Yes    .     .     .    yes    .    .    .    and  for.  the  same  reason." 

"But ?" 

"Don't  you  understand?  Don't  you  understand  that 
I'm  wondering ?  " 

"No;  what?" 

"If  he's  not  dead!" 

"But  you're  mad,  Chief!" 

"No.  ...  I  don't  know.  .  .  .  Only,  only 
.  .  .  I  have  an  impression  of  death " 

Lantern  in  hand,  he  stood  as  one  paralyzed,  opposite 
the  bed;  and  he  who  was  afraid  of  nothing  in  the  world 
had  not  the  courage  to  throw  the  light  on  Hippolyte 
Fauville's  face.  A  terrifying  silence  rose  and  filled  the 
room. 

"Oh,  Chief,  he's  not  moving!" 

"I  know  ...  I  know  .  .  .  and  I  now  see 
that  he  has  not  moved  once  during  the  night.  And  that's 
what  frightens  me." 

He  had  to  make  a  real  effort  in  order  to  step  forward, 
He  was  now  almost  touching  the  bed. 


A  MAN  DOOMED  65 

The  engineer  did  not  appear  to  breathe. 

This  time,  Perenna  resolutely  took  hold  of  his  hand. 

It  was  icy  cold. 

Don  Luis  at  once  recovered  all  his  self-possession. 

"The  window!     Open  the  window!"  he  cried. 

And,  when  the  light  flooded  the  room,  he  saw  the  face  of 
HippolyteFauville  all  swollen,  stained  with  brown  patches. 

"Oh,"  he  said,  under  his  breath,  "he's  dead!" 

"Dash  it  all!  Dash  it  all!"  spluttered  the  detective 
sergeant. 

For  two  or  three  minutes  they  stood  petrified,  stupefied, 
staggered  at  the  sight  of  this  most  astonishing  and  mys- 
terious phenomenon.  Then  a  sudden  idea  made  Perenna 
start.  He  flew  up  the  winding  staircase,  rushed  along 
the  gallery,  and  darted  into  the  attic. 

Edmond,  Hippolyte  Fauville's  son,  lay  stiff  and  stark 
on  his  bed,  with  a  cada  Terous  face,  dead,  too. 

"Dash  it  all!    Dash  it  all!"  repeated  Mazeroux. 

Never,  perhaps,  in  the  course  of  his  adventurous  career, 
had  Perenna  experienced  such  a  knockdown  blow.  It 
gave  him  a  feeling  of  extreme  lassitude,  depriving  him 
of  all  power  of  speech  or  movement.  Father  and  son  were 
dead!  They  had  been  killed  during  that  night!  A  few 
hours  earlier,  though  the  house  was  watched  and  every 
outlet  hermetically  closed,  both  had  been  poisoned  by  an 
infernal  puncture,  even  as  Inspector  Verot  was  poisoned, 
even  as  Cosmo  Mornington  was  poisoned. 

"Dash  it  all!"  said  Mazeroux  once  more.  "It  was  not 
worth  troubling  about  the  poor  devils  and  performing 
such  miracles  to  save  them!" 

The  exclamation  conveyed  a  reproach.  Perenna  grasped 
it  and  admitted: 


66  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"You  are  right,  Mazeroux;  I  was  not  equal  to  the  job." 

"Nor  I,  Chief." 

"You  .  .  .  you  have  only  been  in  this  business 
since  yesterday  evening " 

"Well,  so  have  you,  Chief!" 

"Yes,  I  know,  since  yesterday  evening,  whereas  the 
others  have  been  working  at  it  for  weeks  and  weeks.  But, 
all  the  same,  these  two  are  dead;  and  I  was  there,  I, 
Lupin,  was  there!  The  thing  has  been  done  under  my 
eyes;  and  I  saw  nothing!  I  saw  nothing!  How  is  it 
possible?" 

He  uncovered  the  poor  boy's  shoulders,  showing  the 
mark  of  a  puncture  at  the  top  of  the  arm. 

"The  same  mark  —  the  same  mark  obviously  that  we 
shall  find  on  the  father.  .  .  .  The  lad  does  not  seem 
to  have  suffered,  either.  .  .  .  Poor  little  chap!  He 
did  not  look  very  strong.  .  .  .  Never  mind,  it's  a 
nice  face;  what  a  terrible  blow  for  his  mother  when  she 
learns!" 

The  detective  sergeant  wept  with  anger  and  pity,  while 
he  kept  on  mumbling: 

"Dash  it  all!     .     .     .    Dash  it  all!" 

"We  shall  avenge  them,  eh,  Mazeroux?" 

"Rather,  Chief!    Twice  over!" 

"Once  will  do,  Mazeroux.  But  it  shall  be  done  with 
a  will." 

"That  I  swear  it  shall!" 

"You're  right;  let's  swear.  Let  us  swear  that  this 
dead  pair  shall  be  avenged.  Let  us  swear  not  to  lay 
down  our  arms  until  the  murderers  of  Hippolyte  Fauville 
and  his  son  are  punished  as  they  deserve." 

"I  swear  it  as  I  hope  to  be  saved,  Chief." 


A  MAN  DOOMED  67 

"Good!"  said  Perenna.  "And  now  to  work.  You  go 
and  telephone  at  once  to  the  police  office.  I  am  sure  that 
M.  Desmalions  will  approve  of  your  informing  him  with- 
out delay.  He  takes  an  immense  interest  in  the  case." 

"And  if  the  servants  come?     If  Mme.  Fauville ?" 

"No  one  will  come  till  we  open  the  doors;  and  we  shan't 
open  them  except  to  the  Prefect  of  Police.  It  will  be  for 
him,  afterward,  to  tell  Mme.  Fauville  that  she  is  a  widow 
and  that  she  has  no  son.  Go!  Hurry!" 

"One  moment,  Chief;  we  are  forgetting  something  that 
will  help  us  enormously." 

"What's  that?" 

"The  little  drah-cloth  diary  in  the  safe,  in  which  M. 
Fauville  describes  the  plot  against  him." 

"Why,  of  course!"  said  Perenna.  "You're  right 
.  .  .  especially  as  he  omitted  to  mix  up  the  letters 
of  the  lock  last  night,  and  the  key  is  on  the  bunch  which 
he  left  lying  on  the  table." 

They  ran  down  the  stairs. 

* ' Leave  this  to  me, "  said  Mazeroux.  "It's  more  regular 
that  you  shouldn't  touch  the  safe." 

He  took  the  bunch,  moved  the  glass  case,  and  inserted 
the  key  with  a  feverish  emotion  which  Don  Luis  felt 
even  more  acutely  than  he  did.  They  were  at  last  about 
to  know  the  details  of  the  mysterious  story.  The  dead 
man  himself  would  betray  the  secret  of  his  murderers. 

"Lord,  what  a  time  you  take!"  growled  Don  Luis. 

Mazeroux  plunged  both  hands  into  the  crowd  of  papers 
that  encumbered  the  iron  shelf. 

"Well,  Mazeroux,  hand  it  over," 

"What?" 

"The  diary," 


68  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"I  can't,  Chief.*' 

"What's  that?" 

"It's  gone." 

Don  Luis  stifled  an  oath.  The  drab-cloth  diary,  which 
the  engineer  had  placed  in  the  safe  before  their  eyes,  had 
disappeared. 

Mazeroux  shook  his  head. 

"Dash  it  all!    So  they  knew  about  that  diarj*!" 

"Of  course  they  did;  and  they  knew  plenty  of  other 
things  besides.  We've  not  seen  the  end  of  it  with  those 
fellows.  There's  no  time  to  lose.  Ring  up ! " 

Mazeroux  did  so  and  soon  received  the  answer  that 
M.  Desmalions  was  coming  to  the  telephone.  He  waited. 

In  a  few  minutes  Perenna,  who  had  been  walking  up 
and  down,  examining  different  objects  in  the  room,  came 
and  sat  down  beside  Mazeroux.  He  seemed  thoughtful. 
He  reflected  for  some  time.  But  then,  his  eyes  falling  on 
the  fruit  dish,  he  muttered: 

"Hullo!  There  are  only  three  apples  instead  of  four. 
Then  he  ate  the  fourth." 

"Yes,"  said  Mazeroux,  "he  must  have  eaten  it." 

"That's  funny,"  replied  Perenna,  "for  he  didn't  think 
them  ripe." 

He  was  silent  once  more,  sat  leaning  his  elbows  on  the 
table,  visibly  preoccupied;  then,  raising  his  head,  he  let 
fall  these  words: 

"The  murder  was  committed  before  we  entered  the  room, 
at  half -past  twelve  exactly." 

"How  do  you  know,  Chief?" 

"M.  Fauville's  murderer  or  murderers,  in  touching 
the  things  on  the  table,  knocked  down  the  watch  which 


A  MAN  DOOMED  69 

M.  Fauville  had  placed  there.  They  put  it  back;  but 
the  fall  had  stopped  it.  And  it  stopped  at  half-past 
twelve." 

"Then,  Chief,  when  we  settled  ourselves  here,  at  two 
in  the  morning,  it  was  a  corpse  that  was  lying  beside  us 
and  another  over  our  heads?" 

"Yes." 

"But  how  did  those  devils  get  in?" 

"Through  this  door,  which  opens  on  the  garden,  and 
through  the  gate  that  opens  on  the  Boulevard  Suchet." 

"Then  they  had  keys  to  the  locks  and  bolts?" 

" False  keys,  yes." 

"But  the  policemen  watching  the  house  outside?" 

"They  are  still  watching  it,  as  that  sort  watch  a  house, 
walking  from  point  to  point  without  thinking  that  people 
can  slip  into  a  garden  while  they  have  their  backs  turned. 
That's  what  took  place  in  coming  and  going." 

Sergeant  Mazeroux  seemed  flabbergasted.  The  crimi- 
nals' daring,  their  skill,  the  precision  of  their  acts  be- 
wildered him. 

"They're  deuced  clever,"  he  said. 

"Deuced  clever,  Mazeroux,  as  you  say;  and  I  foresee 
a  tremendous  battle.  By  Jupiter,  with  what  a  vim  they 
set  to  work!" 

The  telephone  bell  rang.  Don  Luis  left  Mazeroux  to 
his- conversation  with  the  Prefect,  and,  taking  the  bunch 
of  keys,  easily  unfastened  the  lock  and  the  bolt  of  fhe 
door  and  went  out  into  the  garden,  in  the  hope  of  there 
finding  some  trace  that  should  facilitate  his  quest. 

As  on  the  day  before,  he  saw,  through  the  ivy,  two 
policemen  walking  between  one  lamp-post  and  the  next. 
They  did  not  see  him.  Moreover,  anything  that  might 


70  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

happen  inside  the  house  appeared  to  be  to  them  a  matter 
of  total  indifference. 

"That's  my  great  mistake,"  said  Perenna  to  himself. 
"It  doesn't  do  to  entrust  a  job  to  people  who  do  not  sus- 
pect its  importance." 

His  investigations  led  to  the  discovery  of  some  traces 
of  footsteps  on  the  gravel,  traces  not  sufficiently  plain  to 
enable  him  to  distinguish  the  shape  of  the  shoes  that  had 
left  them,  yet  distinct  enough  to  confirm  his  supposition. 
The  scoundrels  had  been  that  way. 

Suddenly  he  gave  a  movement  of  delight.  Against 
the  border  of  the  path,  among  the  leaves  of  a  little  clump 
of  rhododendrons,  he  saw  something  red,  the  shape  of 
which  at  once  struck  him.  He  stooped.  It  was  an  apple, 
the  fourth  apple,  the  one  whose  absence  from  the  fruit 
dish  he  had  noticed. 

"Excellent!"  he  said.  "Hippolyte  Fauville  did  not 
eat  it.  One  of  them  must  have  carried  it  away  —  a  fit 
of  appetite,  a  sudden  hunger  —  and  it  must  have  rolled 
from  his  hand  without  his  having  time  to  look  for  it  and 
pick  it  up." 

He  took  up  the  fruit  and  examined  it. 

"What!"  he  exclaimed,  with  a  start.  "Can  it  be 
possible?" 

He  stood  dumfounded,  a  prey  to  real  excitement,  re- 
fusing to  admit  the  inadmissible  thing  which  nevertheless 
presented  itself  to  his  eyes  with  the  direct  evidence  of 
actuality.  Some  one  had  bitten  into  the  apple;  into  the 
apple  which  was  too  sour  to  eat.  And  the  teeth  had  left 
their  mark! 

"Is  it  possible?"  repeated  Don  Luis.  "Is  it  possible 
that  one  of  them  can  have  been  guilty  of  such  an  impru- 


A  MAN  DOOMED  71 

dence!  The  apple  must  have  fallen  without  his  knowing 
.  .  .  or  he  must  have  been  unable  to  find  it  in  the 
dark." 

He  could  not  get  over  his  surprise.  He  cast  about  for 
plausible  explanations.  But  the  fact  was  there  before 
him.  Two  rows  of  teeth,  cutting  through  the  thin  red 
peel,  had  left  their  regular,  semicircular  bite  clearly  in 
the  pulp  of  the  fruit.  They  were  clearly  marked  on  the 
top,  while  the  lower  row  had  melted  into  a  single  curved 
line. 

"The  teeth  of  the  tiger!"  murmured  Perenna,  who  could 
not  remove  his  eyes  from  that  double  imprint.  "The 
teeth  of  the  tiger!  The  teeth  that  had  already  left  their 
mark  on  Inspector  Verot's  piece  of  chocolate!  What  a 
coincidence!  It  can  hardly  be  fortuitous.  Must  we 
not  take  it  as  certain  that  the  same  person  bit  into  this 
apple  and  into  that  cake  of  chocolate  which  Inspector 
Verot  brought  to  the  police  office  as  an  incontestable 
piece  of  evidence?" 

He  hesitated  a  second.  Should  he  keep  this  evidence 
for  himself,  for  the  personal  inquiry  which  he  meant  to 
conduct?  Or  should  he  surrender  it  to  the  investiga- 
tions of  the  police?  But  the  touch  of  the  object  filled 
him  with  such  repugnance,  with  such  a  sense  of  physical 
discomfort,  that  he  flung  away  the  apple  and  sent  it  roll- 
ing under  the  leaves  of  the  shrubs. 

And  he  repeated  to  himself: 

"  The  teeth  of  the  tiger !    The  teeth  of  the  wild  beast ! '! 

He  locked  the  garden  door  behind  him,  bolted  it,  put 
back  the  keys  on  the  table  and  said  to  Mazeroux: 

"Have  you  spoken  to  the  Chief  of  Police?" 

"Yes." 


72  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Is  he  coming?" 

"Yes." 

"Didn't  he  order  you  to  telephone  for  the  commissary 
of  police?" 

"No." 

"That  means  that  he  wants  to  see  everything  by  him- 
self. So  much  the  better.  But  the  detective  office? 
The  public  prosecutor?" 

"He's  told  them." 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Alexandre?  I  have  to 
drag  your  answers  out  of  you.  Well,  what  is  it?  You're 
looking  at  me  very  queerly.  What's  up?" 

"Nothing." 

"That's  all  right.  I  expect  this  business  has  turned 
your  head.  And»no  wonder.  .  .  .  The  Prefect  won't 
enjoy  himself,  either,  .  .  .  especially  as  he  put  his 
faith  in  me  a  bit  light-heartedly  and  will  be  called  upon 
to  give  an  explanation  of  my  presence  here.  By  the 
way,  it's  much  better  that  you  should  take  upon  your- 
self the  responsibility  for  all  that  we  haye  done.  Don't 
you  agree?  Besides,  it'll  do  you  all  the  good  in  the 
world. 

"Put  yourself  forward,  flatly;  suppress  me  as  much  as 
you  can;  and,  above  all  —  I  don't  suppose  that  you  will 
have  any  objection  to  this  little  detail  —  don't  be  such  a 
fool  as  to  say  that  you  went  to  sleep  for  a  single  second, 
last  night,  in  the  passage.  First  of  all,  you'd  only  be 
blamed  for  it.  And  then  .  .  .  well,  that's  under- 
stood, eh?  So  we  have  only  to  say  good-bye. 

"If  the  Prefect  wants  me,  as  I  expect  he  will,  telephone 
to  my  address,  Place  du  Palais-Bourbon.  I  shall  be 
there.  Good-bye.  It  is  23t  necessary  for  me  to  assist 


A  MAN  DOOMED  73 

at  the  inquiry ;  my  presence  would  be  out  of  place.  (Good- 
bye, old  chap." 

He  turned  toward  the  door  of  the  passage. 

"Half  a  moment!"  cried  Mazeroux. 

"Half  a  moment?     .     .     .     What  do  you  mean?" 

The  detective  sergeant  had  flung  himself  between  him 
and  the  door  and  was  blocking  his  way. 

"Yes,  half  a  moment  .  .  .  I  am  not  of  your  opin- 
ion. It's  far  better  that  you  should  wait  until  the  Pre- 
fect comes." 

"But  I  don't  care  a  hang  about  your  opinion!" 

"May  be;  but  you  shan't  pass." 

"What!     Why,  Alexandre,  you  must  be  ill!" 

"Look  here,  Chief,"  said  Mazeroux  feebly.  "What 
can  it  matter  to  you?  It's  only  natural  that  the  Prefect 
should  wish  to  speak  to  you." 

"Ah,  it's  the  Prefect  who  wishes,  is  it?  .  .  .  Well, 
my  lad,  you  can  tell  him  that  I  am  not  at  his  orders,  that 
I  am  at  nobody's  orders,  and  that,  if  the  President  of 
the  Republic,  if  Napoleon  I  himself  were  to  bar  my  way 
.  .  .  Besides,  rats!  Enough  said.  Get  out  of  the 
road!" 

"You  shall  not  pass!"  declared  Mazeroux,  in  a  resolute 
tone,  extending  his  arms. 

"Well,  I  like  that!" 

"You  shall  not  pass." 

"Alexandre,  just  count  ten." 

"A  hundred,  if  you  like,  but  you  shall  not.     .     .     ." 

"Oh,  blow  your  catchwords!     Get  out  of  this." 

He  seized  Mazeroux  by  both  shoulders,  made  him  spin 
round  on  his  heels  and,  with  a  push,  sent  him  floundering 
over  the  sofa.  Then  he  opened  the  door. 


74  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Halt,  or  I  fire!" 

It  was  Mazeroux,  who  had  scrambled  to  his  feet  and 
now  stood  with  his  revolver  in  his  hand  and  a  determined 
expression  on  his  face. 

Don  Luis  stopped  in  amazement.  The  threat  was 
absolutely  indifferent  to  him,  and  the  barrel  of  that  re- 
volver aimed  at  him  left  him  as  cold  as  could  be.  But 
by  what  prodigy  did  Mazeroux,  his  former  accomplice, 
his  ardent  disciple,  his  devoted  servant,  by  what  prodigy 
did  Mazeroux  dare  to  act  as  he  was  doing? 

Perenna  went  up  to  him  and  pressed  gently  on  tho 
detective's  outstretched  arm. 

"Prefect's  orders?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  muttered  the  sergeant,  uncomfortably. 

"Orders  to  keep  me  here  until  he  comes?" 

"Yes." 

"And  if  I  betrayed  an  intention  of  leaving,  to  prevent 
me?" 

"Yes." 

"By  every  means?" 

"Yes." 

"Even  by  putting  a  bullet  through  my  skin?" 

"Yes" 

Perenna  reflected;  and  then,  in  a  serious  voice: 

"Would  you  have  fired,  Mazeroux?" 

The  sergeant  lowered  his  head  and  said  faintly: 

"Yes,  Chief." 

Perenna  looked  at  him  without  anger,  with  a  glance 
of  affectionage  sympathy;  and  it  was  an  absorbing  sight 
for  him  to  see  his  former  companion  dominated  by  such 
a  sense  of  discipline  and  duty.  Nothing  was  able  to  pre- 
vail against  that  sense,  not  even  the  fierce  admiration,  the 


A  MAN  DOOMED  75 

almost  animal  attachment  which  Mazeroux  retained  for 
his  master. 

"I'm  not  angry,  Mazeroux.  In  fact,  I  approve.  Only 
you  must  tell  me  the  reason  why  the  Prefect  of  Police " 

The  detective  did  not  reply,  but  his  eyes  wore  an  ex- 
pression of  such  sadness  that  Don  Luis  started,  suddenly 
understanding. 

"No,"  he  cried,  "no!  .  .  .  It's  absurd  .  .  . 
he  can't  have  thought  that!  .  .  .  And  you,  Mazeroux, 
do  you  believe  me  guilty?" 

"Oh,  I,  Chief,  am  as  sure  of  you  as  I  am  of  myself! 
.  .  .  You  don't  take  life!  .  .  .  But,  all  the  same, 
there  are  things  .  .  .  coincidences " 

"Things  .  .  .  coincidences  .  .  ."  repeated  Don 
Luis  slowly. 

He  remained  pensive;  and,  in  a  low  voice,  he  said: 

"Yes,  after  all,  there's  truth  in  what  you  say.  .  .  . 
Yes,  it  all  fits  in.  ...  Why  didn't  I  think  of  it? 
.  .  .  My  relations  with  Cosmo  Mornington,  my  arrival 
in  Paris  in  time  for  the  reading  of  the  will,  my  insisting 
on  spending  the  night  here,  the  fact  that  the  death  of  the 
two  Fauvilles  undoubtedly  gives  me  the  millions. 
And  then  .  .  .  and  then  .  .  .  why,  he's  abso- 
lutely right,  your  Prefect  of  Police!  .  .  .  All  the 
more  so  as.  ...  Well,  there,  I'm  a  goner!" 

"Come,  come,  Chief!" 

"A  dead-goner,  old  chap;  you  just  get  that  into  your 
head.  Not  as  Arsene  Lupin,  ex-burglar,  ex-convict,  ex- 
anything  you  please  —  I'm  unattackable  on  that  ground 
—  but  as  Don  Luis  Perenna,  respectable  man,  residuary 
legatee,  and  the  rest  of  it.  And  it's  too  stupid!  For, 
after  all,  who  will  find  the  murderers  of  Cosmo,  Verot, 


76  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

and  the  two  Fauvilles,  if  they  go  clapping  me  into 
jail?" 

"Come,  come,  Chief " 

J'Shutup!     .     .     .     Listen!" 

A  motor  car  was  stopping  on  the  boulevard,  followed 
by  another.  It  was  evidently  the  Prefect  and  the  magis- 
trates from  the  public  prosecutor's  office. 

Don  Luis  took  Mazeroux  by  the  arm. 

"There's  only  one  way  out  of  it«,  Alexandra!  Don't 
say  you  went  to  sleep." 

"I  must,  Chief." 

"You  silly  ass!"  growled  Don  Luis.  "How  is  it  possi- 
ble to  be  such  an  ass!  It's  enough  to  disgust  one  with 
honesty.  What  am  I  to  do,  then?" 

"Discover  the  culprit,  Chief." 

"What!     .     .     .     What  are  you  talking  about?" 

Mazeroux,  in  his  turn,  took  him  by  the  arm  and,  clutch- 
ing him  with  a  sort  of  despair,  said,  in  a  voice  choked 
with  tears: 

"Discover  the  culprit,  Chief.  If  not,  you're  done  for 
.  .  .  that's  certain  .  .  .  the  Prefect  told  me  so. 
.  .  .  The  police  want  a  culprit  .  .  .  they  want 
him  this  evening.  .  .  .  One  has  got  to  be  found. 
.  .  .  It's  up  to  you  to  find  him." 

"What  you  have,  Alexandre,  is  a  merry  wit." 

"It's  child's  play  for  you,  Chief.  You  have  only  to 
set  your  mind  to  it." 

"But  there's  not  the  least  clue,  you  ass!" 

"You'll  find  one  .  .  .  you  must  ...  I  en- 
treat you,  hand  them  over  somebody.  ...  It  would 
be  more  than  I  could  bear  if  you  were  arrested.  You, 
the  chief,  accused  of  murder!  No,  no.  ...  I  en- 


A  MAN  DOOMED  77 

treat  you,  discover  the  criminal  and  hand  him  over. 
.  .  .  You  have  the  whole  day  to  do  it  in  .  .  .  and 
Lupin  has  done  greater  things  than  that!" 

He  was  stammering,  weeping,  wringing  his  hands,  gri- 
macing with  every  feature  of  his  comic  face.  And  it  was 
really  touching,  this  grief,  this  dismay  at  the  approach 
of  the  danger  that  threatened  his  master. 

M.  Desmalions's  voice  was  heard  in  the  hall,  through 
the  curtain  that  closed  the  passage.  A  third  motor  car 
stopped  on  the  boulevard,  and  a  fourth,  both  doubtless 
laden  with  policemen. 

The  house  was  surrounded,  besieged. 

Perenna  was  silent. 

Beside  him,  anxious-faced,  Mazeroux  seemed  to  be  im- 
ploring him. 

A  few  seconds  elapsed. 

Then  Perenna  declared,  deliberately: 

"Looking  at  things  all  round,  Alexandre,  I  admit  that 
you  have  seen  the  position  clearly  and  that  your  fears 
are  fully  justified.  If  I  do  not  manage  to  hand  over  the 
murderer  or  murderers  of  Hippolyte  Fauville  and  his 
son  to  the  police  in  a  few  hours  from  now,  it  is  I,  Don 
Luis  Perenna,  who  will  be  lodged  in  durance  vile  on  the 
evening  of  this  Thursday,  the  first  of  April." 


CHAPTER  FOUR 

THE   CLOUDED   TURQUOISE 

IT  WAS  about  nine  o'clock  in,  the  morning  when  the 
Prefect  of  Police  entered  the  study  in  which  the  in- 
comprehensible tragedy  of  that  double  murder  had 
been  enacted. 

He  did  not  even  bow  to  Don  Luis;  and  the  magistrates 
who  accompanied  him  might  have  thought  that  Don  Luis 
was  merely  an  assistant  of  Sergeant  Mazeroux,  if  the 
chief  detective  had  not  made  it  his  business  to  tell  them, 
in  a  few  words,  the  part  played  by  the  stranger. 

M.  Desmalions  briefly  examined  the  two  corpses  and 
received  a  rapid  explanation  from  Mazeroux.  Then, 
returning  to  the  hall,  he  went  up  to  a  drawing-room  on 
the  first  floor,  where  Mme.  Fauville,  who  had  been  in- 
formed of  his  visit,  joined  him  almost  at  once. 

Perenna,  who  had  not  stirred  from  the  passage,  slipped 
into  the  hall  himself.  The  servants  of  the  house,  who 
by  this  time  had  heard  of  the  murder,  were  crossing  it  in 
every  direction.  He  went  down  the  few  stairs  leading 
to  a  ground-floor  landing,  on  which  the  front  door  opened. 

There  were  two  men  there,  of  whom  one  said: 

"You  can't  pass." 

"But- 

"You  can't  pass:  those  are  our  orders." 

"Your  orders?    Who  gave  them?" 

78 


THE  CLOUDED  TURQUOISE  79 

"The  Prefect  himself." 

"No  luck,"  said  Perenna,  laughing.  "I  have  been  up 
all  night  and  I  am  starving.  Is  there  no  way  of  getting 
something  to  eat?" 

The  two  policemen  exchanged  glances  and  one  of 
them  beckoned  to  Silvestre  and  spoke  to  him.  Silvestre 
went  toward  the  dining-room  and  returned  with  a  horse- 
shoe roll. 

"  Good,"  thought  Don  Luis,  after  thanking  him.  "This 
settles  it.  I'm  nabbed.  That's  what  I  wanted  to  know. 
But  M.  Desmalions  is  deficient  in  logic.  For,  if  it's 
Arsene  Lupin  whom  he  means  to  detain  here,  all  these 
worthy  plain-clothesmen  are  hardly  enough;  and,  if  it's 
Don  Luis  Perenna,  they  are  superfluous,  because  the 
flight  of  Master  Perenna  would  deprive  Master  Perenna 
of  every  chance  of  seeing  the  colour  of  my  poor  Cosmo's 
shekels.  Having  said  which,  I  will  take  a  chair." 

He  resumed  his  seat  in  the  passage  and  awaited  events. 

Through  the  open  door  of  the  study  he  saw  the  magis- 
trates pursuing  their  investigations.  The  divisional  sur- 
geon made  a  first  examination  of  the  two  bodies  and  at 
once  recognized  the  same  symptoms  of  poisoning  which 
he  himself  had  perceived,  the  evening  before,  on  the 
corpse  of  Inspector  Verot. 

Next,  the  detectives  took  up  the  bodies  and  car- 
ried them  to  the  adjoining  bedrooms  which  the  father 
and  son  formerly  occupied  on  the  second  floor  of  the 
house. 

The  Prefect  of  Police  then  came  downstairs;  and  Don 
Luis  heard  him  say  to  the  magistrates : 

"Poor  woman!  She  refused  to  understand.  .  .  . 
When  at  last  she  understood,  she  fell  to  the  ground  in  a 


80  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

dead  faint.  Only  think,  her  husband  and  her  son  at  one 
blow!  .  .  .  Poor  thing!" 

From  that  moment  Perenna  heard  and  saw  nothing. 
The  door  was  shut.  The  Prefect  must  afterward  have 
given  some  order  through  the  outside,  through  the  com- 
munication with  the  front  door  offered  by  the  garden,  for 
the  two  detectives  came  and  took  up  their  positions  in  the 
hall,  at  the  entrance  to  the  passage,  on  the  right  and  left 
of  the  dividing  curtain. 

"  One  thing's  certain,"  thought  Don  Luis.  " My  shares 
are  not  booming.  What  a  state  Alexandre  must  be  in! 
Oh,  what  a  state!" 

At  twelve  o'clock  Silvestre  brought  him  some  food  on 
a  tray. 

And  the  long  and  painful  wait  began  anew. 

In  the  study  and  in  the  house,  the  inquiry,  which  had 
been  adjourned  for  lunch,  was  resumed.  Perenna  heard 
footsteps  and  the  sound  of  voices  on  every  side.  At 
last,  feeling  tired  and  bored,  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair 
and  fell  asleep. 

It  was  four  o'clock  when  Sergeant  Mazeroux  came  and 
woke  him.  As  he  led  him  to  the  study,  Mazeroux  whis- 
pered: 

"Well,  have  you  discovered  him?" 

"Whom?" 

"The  murderer." 

"Of  course!"  said  Perenna.  "It's  as  easy  as  shelling 
peas!" 

"That's  a  good  thing!"  said  Mazeroux,  greatly  relieved 
and  failing  to  see  the  joke.  "But  for  that,  as  you  saw 
for  yourself,  you  would  have  been  done  for." 


THE  CLOUDED  TURQUOISE  81 

Don  Luis  entered.  In  the  room  were  the  public  prose- 
cutor, the  examining  magistrate,  the  chief  detective,  the 
local  commissary  of  police,  two  inspectors,  and  three  con- 
stables in  uniform. 

Outside,  on  the  Boulevard  Suchet,  shouts  were  raised; 
and,  when  the  commissary  and  his  three  policemen  went 
out,  by  the  Prefect's  orders,  to  listen  to  the  crowd,  the 
hoarse  voice  of  a  newsboy  was  heard  shouting: 

"The  double  murder  on  the  Boulevard  Suchet!  Full 
particulars  of  the  death  of  Inspector  Verot!  The  police 
at  a  loss! " 

Then,  when  the  door  was  closed,  all  was  silent. 

"Mazeroux  was  quite  right,"  thought  Don  Luis.  "It's 
I  or  the  other  one:  that's  clear.  Unless  the  words  that 
will  be  spoken  and  the  facts  that  will  come  to  light  in  the 
course  of  this  examination  supply  me  with  some  clue  that 
will  enable  me  to  give  them  the  name  of  that  mysterious 
X,  they'll  surrender  me  this  evening  for  the  people  to 
batten  on.  Attention,  Lupin,  old  chap,  the  great  game 
is  about  to  commence!" 

He  felt  that  thrill  of  delight  which  always  ran  through 
him  at  the  approach  of  the  great  struggles.  This  one, 
indeed,  might  be  numbered  among  the  most  terrible  that 
he  had  yet  sustained. 

He  knew  the  Prefect's  reputation,  his  experience,  his 
tenacity,  and  the  keen  pleasure  which  he  took  in  conduct- 
ing important  inquiries  and  in  personally  pushing  them 
to  a  conclusion  before  placing  them  in  the  magistrate's 
hands;  and  he  also  knew  all  the  professional  qualities  of 
the  chief  detective,  and  all  the  subtlety,  all  the  penetrat- 
ing logic  possessed  by  the  examining  magistrate. 

The  Prefect  of  Police  himself  directed  the  attack.    He 


82 

did  so  in  a  straightforward  fashion,  without  beating  about 
the  bush,  and  in  a  rather  harsh  voice,  which  had  lost 
its  former  tone  of  sympathy  for  Don  Luis.  His  attitude 
also  was  more  formal  and  lacked  that  geniality  which 
had  struck  Don  Luis  on  the  previous  day. 

"Monsieur,"  he  said,  "circumstances  having  brought 
about  that,  as  the  residuary  legatee  and  representative  of 
Mr.  Cosmo  Mornington,  you  spent  the  night  on  this 
ground  floor  while  a  double  murder  was  being  committed 
here,  we  wish  to  receive  your  detailed  evidence  as  to  the 
different  incidents  that  occurred  last  night." 

"In  other  words,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  said  Perenna, 
replying  directly  to  the  attack,  "in  other  words,  circum- 
stances having  brought  about  that  you  authorized  me 
to  spend  the  night  here,  you  would  like  to  know  if  my 
evidence  corresponds  at  all  points  with  that  of  Sergeant 
Mazeroux?" 

"Yes." 

"Meaning  that  the  part  played  by  myself  strikes  you 
as  suspicious?" 

M.  Desmalions  hesitated.  His  eyes  met  Don  Luis's 
eyes;  and  he  was  visibly  impressed  by  the  other's  frank 
glance.  Nevertheless  he  replied,  plainly  and  bluntly: 

"It  is  not  for  you  to  ask  me  questions,  Monsieur." 

Don  Luis  bowed. 

"I  am  at  your  orders,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"Please  tell  us  what  you  know." 

Don  Luis  thereupon  gave  a  minute  account  of  events, 
after  which  M.  Desmalions  reflected  for  a  few  moments 
and  said: 

"There  is  one  point  on  which  we  want  to  be  informed. 
When  you  entered  this  room  at  half -past  two  this  morn- 


THE  CLOUDED  TURQUOISE  83 

ing  and  sat  down  beside  M.  Fauville,  was  there  nothing 
to  tell  you  that  he  was  dead?" 

"Nothing,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  Otherwise,  Sergeant 
Mazeroux  and  I  would  have  given  the  alarm." 

"Was  the  garden  door  shut?" 

"It  must  have  been,  as  we  had"  to  unlock  it  at  seven 
o'clock." 

"With  what?" 

"With  the  key  on  the  bunch." 

"But  how  could  the  murderers,  coming  from  the  out- 
side, have  opened  it?" 

"With  false  keys." 

"Have  you  a  proof  which  allows  you  to  suppose  that 
it  was  opened  with  false  keys?" 

"No,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"Therefore,  until  we  have  proofs  to  the  contrary,  we 
are  bound  to  believe  that  it  was  not  opened  from  the 
outside,  and  that  the  criminal  was  inside  the  house." 

"But,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  there  was  no  one  here  but 
Sergeant  Mazeroux  and  myself!" 

There  was  a  silence,  a  pause  whose  meaning  admitted 
of  no  doubt.  M.  Desmalions's  next  words  gave  it  an  even 
more  precise  value. 

"You  did  not  sleep  during  the  night?" 

"Yes,  toward  the  end." 

"You  did  not  sleep  before,  while  you  were  in  the  pas- 
sage?" 

"No." 

* '  And   Sergeant   Mazeroux  ? ' ' 

Don  Luis  remained  undecided  for  a  moment;  but  how 
could  he  hope  that  the  honest  and  scrupulous  Mazeroux 
had  disobeyed  the  dictates  of  his  conscience? 


84  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

He  replied: 

"Sergeant  Mazeroux  went  to  sleep  in  his  chair  and 
did  not  wake  until  Mme.  Fauville  returned,  two  hours 
later." 

There  was  a  fresh  silence,  which  evidently  meant: 

"So,  during  the  two  hours  when  Sergeant  Mazeroux 
was  asleep,  it  was  physically  possible  for  you  to  open  the 
door  and  kill  the  two  Fauvilles." 

The  examination  was  taking  the  course  which  Perenna 
had  foreseen;  and  the  circle  was  drawing  closer  and  closer 
around  him.  His  adversary  was  conducting  the  contest 
with  a  logic  and  vigour  which  he  admired  without  re- 
serve. 

"By  Jove ! "  he  thought.  "How  difficult  it  is  to  defend 
one's  self  when  one  is  innocent.  There's  my  right  wing 
and  my  left  wing  driven  in.  Will  my  centre  be  able  to 
stand  the  assault?" 

M.  Desmalions,  after  a  whispered  colloquy  with  the 
examining  magistrate,  resumed  his  questions  in  these 
terms : 

"Yesterday  evening,  when  M.  Fauville  opened  his  safe 
in  your  presence  and  the  sergeant's,  what  was  in  the  safe?  " 

"A  heap  of  papers,  on  one  of  the  shelves;  and,  among 
those  papers,  the  diary  in  drab  cloth  which  has  since 
disappeared." 

"You  did  not  touch  those  papers?" 

"Neither  the  papers  nor  the  safe,  Monsieur  le  Prefet. 
Sergeant  Mazeroux  must  have  told  you  that  he  made 
me  stand  aside,  to  insure  the  regularity  of  the  inquiry." 

"So  you  never  came  into  the  slightest  contact  with  the 
safe?" 

"Not  the  slightest." 


THE   CLOUDED  TURQUOISE  85 

M.  Desmalions  looked  at  the  examining  magistrate  and 
nodded  his  head.  Had  Perenna  been  able  to  doubt  that 
a  trap  was  being  laid  for  him,  a  glance  at  Mazeroux  would 
have  told  him  all  about  it.  Mazeroux  was  ashen  gray. 

Meanwhile,  M.  Desmalions  continued: 

"You  have  taken  part  in  inquiries,  Monsieur,  in  police 
inquiries.  Therefore,  in  putting  my  next  question  to  you, 
I  consider  that  I  am  addressing  it  to  a  tried  detective." 

"I  will  answer  your  question,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  to 
the  best  of  my  ability." 

"Here  it  is,  then:  Supposing  that  there  were  at  this 
moment  in  the  safe  an  object  of  some  kind,  a  jewel,  let 
us  say,  a  diamond  out  of  a  tie  pin,  and  that  this  diamond 
had  come  from  a  tie  pin  which  belonged  to  somebody 
whom  we  knew,  somebody  who  had  spent  the  night  in 
this  house,  what  would  you  think  of  the  coincidence?" 

"There  we  are,"  said  Perenna  to  himself.  "There's 
the  trap.  It's  clear  that  they've  found  something  in  the 
safe,  and  next,  that  they  imagine  that  this  something 
belongs  to  me.  Good!  But,  in  that  case,  we  must  pre- 
sume, as  I  have  not  touched  the  safe,  that  the  thing  was 
taken  from  me  and  put  in  the  safe  to  compromise  me. 
But  I  did  not  have  a  finger  in  this  pie  until  yesterday; 
and  it  is  impossible  that,  during  last  night,  when  I  saw 
nobody,  any  one  can  have  had  time  to  prepare  and  con- 
trive such  a  determined  plot  against  me.  So  -s — 

The  Prefect  of  Police  interrupted  this  silent  monologue 
by  repeating: 

"What  would  be  your  opinion?" 

"There  would  be  an  undeniable  connection  between 
that  person's  presence  in  the  house  and  the  two  crimes 
that  had  been  committed." 


86  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Consequently,  we  should  have  the  right  at  least  to 
suspect  the  person?" 

"Yes." 

"That  is  your  view?" 

"Decidedly." 

M.  Desmalions  produced  a  piece  of  tissue  paper  from 
his  pocket  and  took  from  it  a  little  blue  stone,  which  he 
displayed. 

"Here  is  a  turquoise  which  we  found  in  the  safe.  It 
belongs,  without  a  shadow  of  a  doubt,  to  the  ring  which 
you  are  wearing  on  your  finger." 

Don  Luis  was  seized  with  a  fit  of  rage.  He  half  grated, 
through  his  clenched  teeth: 

"Oh,  the  rascals!  How  clever  they  are!  But  no,  I 
can't  believe " 

He  looked  at  his  ring,  which  was  formed  of  a  large, 
clouded,  dead  turquoise,  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  small, 
irregular  turquoises,  also  of  a  very  pale  blue.  One  of 
these  was  missing;  and  the  one  which  M.  Desmalions 
had  in  his  hand  fitted  the  place  exactly. 

"What  do  you  say?"  asked  M.  Desmalions. 

"I  say  that  this  turquoise  belongs  to  my  ring,  which 
was  given  me  by  Cosmo  Mornington  on  the  first  occasion 
that  I  saved  his  life." 

"So  we  are  agreed?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  we  are  agreed." 

Don  Luis  Perenna  began  to  walk  across  the  room,  re- 
flecting. The  movement  which  the  two  detectives  made 
toward  the  two  doors  told  him  that  his  arrest  was  pro- 
vided for.  A  word  from  M.  Desmalions,  and  Sergeant 
Mazeroux  would  be  forced  to  take  his  chief  by  the  collar. 

Don  Luis  once  more  gave  a  glance  toward  his  former 


THE   CLOUDED  TURQUOISE  87 

accomplice.  Mazeroux  made  a  gesture  of  entreaty,  as 
though  to  say: 

"Well,  what  are  you  waiting  for?  Why  don't  you  give 
up  the  criminal?  Quick,  it's  time!" 

Don  Luis  smiled. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  the  Prefect,  in  a  tone  that 
now  entirely  lacked  the  sort  of  involuntary  politeness 
which  he  had  shown  since  the  commencement  of  the 
examination. 

"The  matter?     The  matter?  - 

Perenna  seized  a  chair  by  the  back,  spun  it  round  and 
sat  down  upon  it,  with  the  simple  remark: 

"Let's  talk!" 

And  this  was  said  in  such  a  way  and  the  movement 
executed  with  so  much  decision  that  the  Prefect  muttered, 
as  though  wavering: 

"I  don't  quite  see " 

"You  soon  will,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

And,  speaking  in  a  slow  voice,  laying  stress  on  every 
syllable  that  he  uttered,  he  began: 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  the  position  is  as  clear  as  daylight. 
Yesterday  evening  you  gave  me  an  authorization  which 
involves  your  responsibility  most  gravely.  The  result  is 
that  what  you  now  want,  at  all  costs  and  without  delay, 
is  a  culprit.  And  that  culprit  is  to  be  myself.  By  way  of 
incriminating  evidence,  you  have  the  fact  of  my  presence 
here,  the  fact  the  door  was  locked  on  the  inside,  the  fact 
that  Sergeant  Mazeroux  was  asleep  while  the  crime  was 
committed,  and  the  fact  of  the  discovery  of  the  turquoise 
in  the  safe.  All  this  is  crushing,  I  admit.  Added  to  it," 
he  continued,  "we  have  the  terrible  presumption  that  I 
had  every  interest  in  the  removal  of  M.  Fauville  and  his 


88  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

son,  inasmuch  as,  if  there  is  no  heir  of  Cosmo  Morning^ 
ton's  in  existence,  I  come  into  a  hundred  million  francs. 
Exactly.  There  is  therefore  nothing  for  me  to  do,  Mon- 
sieur le  Prefet,  but  to  go  with  you  to  the  lock-up  or 
else- 

" Or  else  what?" 

"Or  else  hand  over  to  you  the  criminal,  the  real  crimi< 
fcal." 

The  Prefect  of  Police  smiled  and  took  out  his  watch. 

"I'm  waiting,"  he  said. 

"It  will  take  me  just  an  hour,  Monsieur  le  Prefet, 
and  no  more,  if  you  give  me  every  latitude.  And  the 
search  of  the  truth,  it  seems  to  me,  is  worth  a  little  pa- 
tience." 

"I'm  waiting,"  repeated  M.  Desmalions. 

''Sergeant  Mazeroux,  please  tell  Silvestre,  the  man- 
servant, that  Monsieur  le  Prefet  wishes  to  see  him." 

Upon  a  sign  from  M.  Desmalions,  Mazeroux  went  out, 

Don  Luis  explained  his  motive. 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  whereas  the  discovery  of  the 
turquoise  constitutes  in  your  eyes  an  extremely  serious 
proof  against  me,  to  me  it  is  a  revelation  of  the  highest 
importance.  I  will  tell  you  why.  That  turquoise  must 
have  fallen  from  my  ring  last  evening  and  rolled  on  the 
carpet. 

"Now  there  are  only  four  persons,"  he  continued, 
"who  can  have  noticed  this  fall  when  it  happened,  picked 
up  the  turquoise  and,  in  order  to  compromise  the  new 
adversary  that  I  was,  slipped  it  into  the  safe.  The  first 
of  those  four  persons  is  one  of  your  detectives,  Sergeant 
Mazeroux,  of  whom  we  will  not  speak.  The  second  is 
dead:  I  refer  to  M.  Fauville.  We  will  not  speak  of  him. 


THE  CLOUDED  TURQUOISE  8D 

The  third  is  Silvestre,  the  manservant.  I  should  like  to 
say  a  few  words  to  him.  I  shall  not  take  long." 

Silvestre's  examination,  in  fact,  was  soon  over.  He 
was  able  to  prove  that,  pending  the  return  of  Mme. 
Fauville,  for  whom  he  had  to  open  the  door,  he  had  not 
left  the  kitchen,  where  he  was  playing  at  cards  with 
the  lady's  maid  and  another  manservant. 

"Very  well,"  said  Perenna.  "One  word  more.  You 
must  have  read  in  this  morning's  papers  of  the  death  of 
Inspector  Verot  and  seen  his  portrait." 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  know  Inspector  Verot?" 

"No." 

"Still,  it  is  probable  that  he  came  here  yesterday,  dur- 
ing the  day." 

"I  can't  say,"  replied  the  servant.  "M.  Fauville  used 
to  receive  many  visitors  through  the  garden  and  let 
them  in  himself." 

"You  have  no  more  evidence  to  give?" 

"No." 

"Please  tell  Mme.  Fauville  that  Monsieur  le  Prefet 
would  be  very  much  obliged  if  he  could  have  a  word 
with  her." 

Silvestre  left  the  room. 

The  examining  magistrate  and  the  public  prosecutor 
had  drawn  nearer  in  astonishment. 

The  Prefect  exclaimed: 

"What,  Monsieur!  You  don't  mean  to  pretend  that 
Mme.  Fauville  is  mixed  up  - 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  Mme.  Fauville  is  the  fourth  person 
who  may  have  seen  the  turquoise  drop  out  of  my  ring." 


90  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"And  what  4<hen?  Have  we  the  right,  in  the  absence 
of  any  real  proof,  to  suppose  that  a  woman  can  kill  her 
husband,  that  a  mother  can  poison  her  son?" 

"I  am  supposing  nothing,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"Then ?" 

Don  Luis  made  no  reply.  M.  Desmalions  did  not  con- 
ceal his  irritation.  However,  he  said: 

"Very  well;  but  I  order  you  most  positively  to  remain 
silent.  What  questions  am  I  to  put  to  Mme.  Fau- 
ville?" 

"One  only,  Monsieur  le  Prefet:  ask  Mme.  Fauville  if 
she  knows  any  one,  apart  from  her  husband,  who  is  de- 
scended from  the  sisters  Roussel." 

"Why  that  question?" 

"Because,  if  that  descendant  exists,  it  is  not  I  who  will 
inherit  the  millions,  but  he;  and  then  it  will  be  he  and 
not  I  who  would  be  interested  in  the  removal  of  M. 
Fauville  and  his  son." 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  muttered  M.  Desmalions.  "But 
even  so,  this  new  trail L" 

Mme.  Fauville  entered  as  he  was  speaking.  Her  face 
remained  charming  and  pretty  in  spite  of  the  tears  that 
had  reddened  her  eyelids  and  impaired  the  freshness  of 
her  cheeks.  But  her  eyes  expressed  the  scare  of  terror; 
and  the  obsession  of  the  tragedy  imparted  to  all  her  at- 
tractive personality,  to  her  gait  and  to  her  movements, 
something  feverish  and  spasmodic  that  was  painful  to 
look  upon. 

"Pray  sit  down,  Madame,"  said  the  Prefect,  speaking 
with  the  height  of  deference,  "and  forgive  me  for  inflict- 
ing any  additional  emotion  upon  you.  But  time  is  pre- 
cious; and  we  must  do  everything  to  make  sure  that  thf 


THE  CLOUDED  TURQUOISE  91 

two  victims  whose  loss  you  are  mourning  shall  be  avenged 
without  delay." 

Tears  were  still  streaming  from  her  beautiful  eyes;  and, 
with  a. sob,  she  stammered: 

"If  the  police  need  me,  Monsieur  le  Prefet " 

"Yes,  it  is  a  question  of  obtaining  a  few  particulars. 
Your  husband's  mother  is  dead,  is  she  not?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"Am  I  correct  in  saying  that  she  ca'me  from  Saint- 
Etienne  and  that  her  maiden  name  was  Roussel?" 

"Yes." 

"Elizabeth  Roussel?" 

"Yes." 

"Had  your  husband  any  brothers  or  sisters?" 

"No." 

"Therefore  there  is  no  descendant  of  Elizabeth  Roussel 
living?" 

"No." 

"Very  well.  But  Elizabeth  Roussel  had  two  sisters, 
did  she  not?" 

"Yes." 

"Ermeline  Roussel,  the  elder,  went  abroad  and  was  not 
heard  of  again.  The  other,  the  younger " 

"The  other  was  called  Armande  Roussel.  She  was  my 
mother." 

"Eh?     What  do  you  say?" 

"I  said  my  mother's  maiden  name  was  Armande  Rous- 
sel, and  I  married  my  cousin,  the  son  of  Elizabeth  Roussel." 

The  statement  had  the  effect  of  a  thunderclap.  So, 
upon  the  death  of  Hippolyte  Fauville  and  his  son  Edmond, 
the  direct  descendants  of  the  eldest  sister,  Cosmo  Morn- 
ington's  inheritance  passed  to  the  other  branch,  that  of 


92  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

Armande  Roussel;  and  this  branch  was  represented  so 
far  by  Mme.  Fauville! 

The  Prefect  of  Police  and  the  examining  magistrate  ex- 
changed glances  and  both  instinctively  turned  toward  Don 
Luis  Perenna,  who  did  not  move  a  muscle. 

"Have  you  no  brother  or  sister,  Madame?"  asked  the 
Prefect. 

"No,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  I  am  the  only  one," 

The  only  one!  In  other  words,  now  that  her  husband 
and  son  were  dead,  Cosmo  Mornington's  millions  reverted 
absolutely  and  undeniably  to  her,  to  her  alone. 

Meanwhile,  a  hideous  idea  weighed  like  a  nightmare 
upon  the  magistrates  and  they  could  not  rid  themselves 
of  it:  the  woman  sitting  before  them  was  the  mother  of 
Edmond  Fauville.  M.  Desmalions  had  his  eyes  on  Don 
Luis  Perenna,  who  wrote  a  few  words  on  a  card  and 
handed  it  to  the  Prefect. 

M.  Desmalions,  who  was  gradually  resuming  toward 
Don  Luis  his  courteous  attitude  of  the  day  before,  read 
It,  reflected  a  moment,  and  put  this  question  to  Mme. 
Fauville : 

"What  was  your  son  Edmond's  age?" 

"Seventeen." 

"You  look  so  young  — 

"Edmond  was  not  my  son,  but  my  stepson,  the  son  of 
my  husband  by  his  first  wife,  who  died." 

"Ah!  So  Edmond  Fauville  -  -"  muttered  the  Pre- 
fect, without  finishing  his  sentence. 

In  two  minutes  the  whole  situation  had  changed.  In 
the  eyes  of  the  magistrates,  Mme.  Fauville  was  no  longer 
the  widow  and  mother  who  must  on  no  account  be  at- 
tacked. She  had  suddenly  become  a  woman  whom  cir- 


THE   CLOUDED  TURQUOISE  93 

cumstances  compelled  them  to  cross-examine.  However 
prejudiced  they  might  be  in  her  favour,  however  charmed 
by  the  seductive  qualities  of  her  beauty,  they  were  in- 
evitably bound  to  ask  themselves,  whether  for  some 
reason  or  other,  for  instance,  in  order  to  be  alone  in  the 
enjoyment  of  the  enormous  fortune,  she  had  not  had  the 
madness  to  kill  her  husband  and  to  kill  the  boy  who  was 
only  her  husband's  son.  In  any  case,  the  question  was 
there,  calling  for  a  solution. 

The  Prefect  of  Police  continued: 

"Do  you  know  this  turquoise?" 

She  took  the  stone  which  he  held  out  to  her  and  exam- 
ined it  without  the  least  sign  of  confusion. 

"No,"  she  said.  "I  have  an  old-fashioned  turquoise 
necklace,  which  I  never  wear,  but  the  stones  are  larger 
and  none  of  them  has  this  irregular  shape." 

"We  found  this  one  in  the  safe,"saidM.Desmalions.  "It 
forms  part  of  a  ring  belonging  to  a  person  whom  we  know." 

"Well,"  she  said  eagerly,  "you  must  find  that  person." 

"He  is  here,"  said  the  Prefect,  pointing  to  Don  Luis, 
who  had  been  standing  some  way  off  and  who  had  not 
been  noticed  by  Mme.  Fauville. 

She  started  at  the  sight  of  Perenna  and  cried,  very  ex- 
citedly: 

"But  that  gentleman  was  here  yesterday  evening! 
He  was  talking  to  my  husband  —  arvd  so  was  that  other 
gentleman,"  she  said,  referring  to  Sergeant  Mazeroux. 
"You  must  question  them,  find  out  why  they  were  here. 
You  understand  that,  if  the  turquoise  belonged  to  one 
of  them  - 

The  insinuation  was  direct,  but  clumsy;  and  it  lent 
the  greatest  weight  to  Perenna's  unspoken  argument : 


94  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"The  turquoise  was  picked  up  by  some  one  who  saw 
me  yesterday  and  who  wishes  to  compromise  me.  Apart 
from  M.  Fauville  and  the  detective  sergeant,  only  two 
people  saw  me:  Silvestre,  the  manservant,  and  Mme. 
Fauville.  Consequently,  as  Silvestre  is  outside  the  ques- 
tion, I  accuse  Mme.  Fauville  of  putting  the  turquoise  in 
the  safe." 

M.  Desmalions  asked: 

"Will  you  let  me  see  the  necklace,  Madame?" 

"Certainly.  It  is  with  my  other  jewels,  in  my  ward- 
robe. I  will  go  for  it." 

"Pray  don't  trouble,  Madame.  Does  your  maid  know 
the  necklace?" 

"Quite  well." 

"In  that  case,  Sergeant  Mazeroux  will  tell  her  what 
is  wanted." 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  during  the  few  minutes  for 
which  Mazeroux  was  absent.  Mme.  Fauville  seemed 
absorbed  in  her  grief.  M.  Desmalions  kept  his  eyes 
fixed  on  her. 

The  sergeant  returned,  carrying  a  very  large  box  con- 
taining a  number  of  jewel-cases  and  loose  ornaments. 

M.,  Desmalions  found  the  necklace,  examined  it,  and 
realized,  in  fact,  that  the  stones  did  not  resemble  the 
turquoise  and  that  none  of  them  was  missing.  But,  on 
separating  two  jewel  cases  in  order  to  take  out  a  tiara 
which  also  contained  blue  stones,  he  made  a  gesture  of 
surprise. 

"What  are  these  two  keys?"  he  asked,  pointing  to 
two  keys  identical  in  shape  and  size  with  those  which 
opened  the  lock  and  the  bolt  of  the  garden  door. 


THE  CLOUDED  TURQUOISE  95 

Mme.  Fauville  remained  very  calm.  Not  a  muscle  of 
her  face  moved.  Nothing  pointed  to  the  least  perturba- 
tion on  account  of  this  discovery.  She  merely  said: 

"I  don't  know.     They  have  been  there  a  long  time." 

"Mazeroux,"  said  M.  Desmalions,  "try  them  on  that 
door." 

Mazeroux  did  so.     The  door  opened. 

"Yes,"  said  Mme.  Fauville.  "I  remember  now,  my 
husband  gave  them  to  me.  They  were  duplicates  of  his 
own  keys " 

The  words  were  uttered  in  the  most  natural  tone  and 
as  though  the  speaker  did  not  even  suspect  the  terrible 
charge  that  was  forming  against  her. 

And  nothing  was  more  agonizing  than  this  tranquillity. 
Was  it  a  sign  of  absolute  innocence,  or  the  infernal  craft 
of  a  criminal  whom  nothing  is  able  to  stir?  Did  she 
realize  nothing  of  the  tragedy  which  was  taking  place 
and  of  which  she  was  the  unconscious  heroine?  Or  did 
she  guess  the  terrible  accusation  which  was  gradually 
closing  in  upon  her  on  every  side  and  which  threatened 
her  with  the  most  awful  danger?  But,  in  that  case,  how 
could  she  have  been  guilty  of  the  extraordinary  blunder 
of  keeping  those  two  keys? 

A  series  of  questions  suggested  itself  to  the  min^s  of 
all  those  present.  The  Prefect  of  Police  put  them  as 
follows: 

"You  were  out,  Madame,  were  you  not,  when  the  mur- 
ders were  committed?" 

"Yes." 

"You  were  at  the  opera?" 

"Yes;  and  I  went  on  to  a  party  at  the  house  of  one  of 
my  friends,  Mme.  d'Ersingen." 


96  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Did  your  chauffeur  drive  you?" 

"  To  the  opera,  yes.  But  I  sent  him  back  to  his  garage ; 
and  he  came  to  fetch  me  at  the  party." 

"I  see,"  said  M.  Desmalions.  "But  how  did  you  go 
from  the  opera  to  Mme.  d'Ersingen's?" 

For  the  first  time,  Mme.  Fauville  seemed  to  understand 
that  she  was  the  victim  of  a  regular  cross-examination; 
and  her  look  and  attitude  betrayed  a  certain  uneasiness. 
She  replied : 

"I  took  a  motor  cab." 

"In  the  street?" 

"On  the  Place  de  1'Opera." 

"At  twelve  o'clock,  therefore?" 

"No,  at  half -past  eleven:  I  left  before  the  opera  was 
over." 

"You  were  in  a  hurry  to  get  to  your  friend's?" 

"Yes     ...     or  rather- 

She  stopped;  her  cheeks  were  scarlet;  her  lips  and  chin 
trembled;  and  she  asked: 

"Why  do  you  ask  me  all  these  questions?" 

"They  are  necessary,  Madame.  They  may  throw  a 
light  on  what  we  want  to  know.  I  beg  you,  therefore,  to 
answer  them.  At  what  time  did  you  reach  your  friend's 
house?" 

"I  hardly  know.     I  did  not  notice  the  time." 

"Did  you  go  straight  there?" 

"Almost." 

"How  do  you  mean,  almost?" 

"I  had  a  little  headache  and  told  the  driver  to  go  up 
the  Champs  Elysees  and  the  Avenue  du  Bois  —  very 
slowly  —  and  then  down  the  Champs  Elysees  again 

She  was  becoming  more  and  more  embarrassed.     Her 


THE  CLOUDED  TURQUOISE  97 

voice  grew  indistinct.  She  lowered  her  head  and  was 
silent. 

Certainly  her  silence  contained  no  confession,  and  there 
was  nothing  entitling  any  one  to  believe  that  her  dejec- 
tion was  other  than  a  consequence  of  her  grief.  But  yet 
she  seemed  so  weary  as  to  give  the  impression  that,  feel- 
ing herself  lost,  she  was  giving  up  the  fight.  And  it  was 
almost  a  feeling  of  pity  that  was  entertained  for  this 
woman  against  whom  all  the  circumstances  seemed  to 
be  conspiring,  and  who  defended  herself  so  badly  that 
her  cross-examiner  hesitated  to  press  her  yet  further. 

M.  Desmalions,  in  fact,  wore  an  irresolute  air,  as  if  the 
victory  had  been  too  easy,  and  as  if  he  had  some  scruple 
about  pursuing  it. 

Mechanically  he  observed  Perenna,  who  passed  him  a 
slip  of  paper,  saying: 

"Mme.  d'Ersingen's  telephone  number." 

M.  Desmalions  murmured: 

"Yes,  true,  they  may  know  - 

And,  taking  down  the  receiver,  he  asked  for  number 
325.04.  He  was  connected  at  once  and  continued: 

"Who  is  that  speaking?  .  .  .  The  butler?  Ah! 
Is  Mme.  d'Ersingen  at  home?  .  .  .  No?  ...  Or 
Monsieur?  .  .  .  Not  he,  either?  .  .  .  Never 
mind,  you  can  tell  me  what  I  want  to  know.  I  am  M. 
Desmalions,  the  Prefect  of  Police,  and  I  need  certain  in- 
formation. At  what  time  did  Mme.  Fauville  come  last 
night?  .  .  .  What  do  you  say?  .  .  .  Are  you 
sure?  ...  At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning?  .  .  . 
Not  before?  .  .  .  And  she  went  away?  ...  In 
ten  minutes'  time?  .  .  .  Good.  .  .  .  But  you're 
certain  vou  are  not  mistaken  about  the  time  when  she 


98  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

arrived?  I  must  know  this  positively:  it  is  most  impor- 
tant. .  .  .  You  say  it  was  two  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing? Two  o'clock  in  the  morning?  .  .  .  Very  well. 
.  .  .  Thank  you." 

When  M.  Desmalions  turned  round,  he  saw  Mme. 
Fauville  standing  beside  him  and  looking  at  him  with  an 
expression  of  mad  anguish.  And  one  and  the  same  idea 
occurred  to  the  mind  of  all  the  onlookers.  They  were 
in  the  presence  either  of  an  absolutely  innocent  woman 
or  else  of  an  exceptional  actress  whose  face  lent  itself  to 
the  most  perfect  simulation  of  innocence. 

"What  do  you  want?"  she  stammered.  "What  does 
this  mean?  Explain  yourself!" 

Then  M.  Desmalions  asked  simply: 

"What  were  you  doing  last  night  between  half -past 
eleven  in  the  evening  and  two  o'clock  in  the  morning?" 

It  was  a  terrifying  question  at  the  stage  which  the  ex- 
amination had  reached,  a  fatal  question  implying: 

"If  you  cannot  give  us  an  exact  and  strict  account  of 
the  way  in  which  you  employed  your  time  while  the  crime 
was  being  committed,  we  have  the  right  to  conclude  that 
you  were  not  alien  to  the  murder  of  your  husband  and 
stepson  — 

She  understood  it  in  this  sense  and  staggered  on  her 
feet,  moaning: 

"It's  horrible!     .     .     .     horrible!" 

The  Prefect  repeated: 

"What  were  you  doing?  The  question  must  be  quite 
easy  to  answer." 

"Oh,"  she  cried,  in  the  same  piteous  tone,  "how  can 
you  believe!  .  .  .  Oh,  no,  no,  it's  not  possible! 
How  can  you  believe!" 


THE  CLOUDED  TURQUOISE  99 

"I  believe  nothing  yet,"  he  said.  "Besides,  you  can 
establish  the  truth  with  a  single  word." 

It  seemed,  from  the  movement  of  her  lips  and  the  sud- 
den gesture  of  resolution  that  shook  her  frame,  as  though 
she  were  about  to  speak  that  word.  But  all  at  once  she 
appeared  stupefied  and  dumfounded,  pronounced  a  few 
unintelligible  syllables,  and  fell  huddled  into  a  chair,  sob- 
bing convulsively  and  uttering  cries  of  despair. 

It  was  tantamount  to  a  confession.  At  the  very  least, 
it  was  a  confession  of  her  inability  to  supply  the  plausible 
explanation  which  would  have  put  an  end  to  the  discus- 
sion. 

The  Prefect  of  Police  moved  away  from  her  and  spoke 
in  a  low  voice  to  the  examining  magistrate  and  the  public 
prosecutor.  Perenna  and  Sergeant  Mazeroux  were  left 
alone  together,  side  by  side. 

Mazeroux  whispered: 

"What  did  I  tell  you?  I  knew  you  would  find  out! 
Oh,  what  a  man  you  are!  The  way  you  managed!'* 

He  was  beaming  at  the  thought  that  the  chief  was 
clear  of  the  matter  and  that  he  had  no  more  crows  to 
pluck  with  his,  Mazeroux's,  superiors,  whom  he  revered 
almost  as  much  as  he  did  the  chief.  Everybody  was 
.now  agreed;  they  were  "friends  all  round";  and  Mazeroux 
was  choking  with  delight. 

"They'll  lock  her  up,  eh?" 

"No,"  said  Perenna.  "There's  not  enough  'hold*  on 
her  for  them  to  issue  a  warrant." 

"What!"  growled  Mazeroux  indignantly.  "Not 
enough  hold?  I  hope,  in  any  case,  that  you  won't  let  her 
go.  She  made  no  bones,  you  know,  about  attacking  you! 
Come,  Chief,  polish  her  off,  a  she-devil  like  that!" 


100  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

Don  Luis  remained  pensive.  He  was  thinking  of  the 
unheard-of  coincidences,  the  accumulation  of  facts  that 
bore  down  on  Mme.  Fauville  from  every  side.  And  the 
decisive  proof  which  would  join  all  these  different  facts 
together  and  give  to  the  accusation  the  grounds  which 
it  still  lacked  was  one  which  Perenna  was  able  to  supply. 
This  was  the  marks  of  the  teeth  in  the  apple  hidden 
among  the  shrubs  in  the  garden.  To  the  police  these 
would  be  as  good  as  any  fingerprint,  all  the  more  as  they 
could  compare  the  marks  with  those  on  the  cake  of  choco- 
late. 

Nevertheless,  he  hesitated;  and,  concentrating  his  anx- 
ious attention,  he  watched,  with  mingled  feelings  of  pity 
and  repulsion,  that  woman  who,  to  all  seeming,  had  killed 
her  husband  and  her  husband's  son.  Was  he  to  give  her 
the  finishing  stroke?  Had  Jie  the  right  to  play  the  part 
of  judge?  And  supposing  he  were  wrong? 

Meantime,  M.  Desmalions  had  walked  up  to  him  and, 
while  pretending  to  speak  to  Mazeroux,  was  really  ask- 
ing Perenna: 

"What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

Mazeroux  shook  his  head.    Perenna  replied: 

"I  think,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  that,  if  this  woman  is 
guilty,  she  is  defending  herself,  for  all  her  cleverness, 
with  inconceivable  lack  of  skill." 

"Meaning ?" 

"Meaning  that  she  was  doubtless  only  a  tool  in  the 
hands  of  an  accomplice." 

"An  accomplice?" 

"Remember,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  her  husband's  ex- 
elamation  in  your  office  yesterday:  'Oh.  the  scoundrels? 


THE  CLOUDED  TURQUOISE  101 

the  scoundrels!'  There  is,  therefore,  at  least  one  accom- 
plice, who  perhaps  is  the  same  as  the  man  who  was  pres- 
ent, as  Sergeant  Mazeroux  must  have  told  you,  in  the 
Cafe  du  Pont-Neuf  when  Inspector  Verot  was  last  there: 
a  man  with  a  reddish-brown  beard,  carrying  an  ebony 
walking-stick  with  a  silver  handle.  So  that 

"So  that,"  said  M.  Desmalions,  completing  the  sen- 
tence, "by  arresting  Mme.  Fauville  to-day,  merely  on 
suspicion,  we  have  a  chance  of  laying  our  hands  on  the 
accomplice." 

Perenna  did  not  reply.  The  Prefect  continued,  thought- 
fully: 

"Arrest  her  .  .  .  arrest  her.  .  .  .  We  should 
need  a  proof  for  that.  .  .  .  Did  you  receive  no 
-me?" 

"None  at  all,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  True,  my  search  was 
only  summary." 

"But  ours  was  most  minute.  We  have  been  through 
every  corner  of  the  room." 

"And  the  garden,  Monsieur  le  Prefet?" 

"The  garden  also." 

"With  the  same  care?" 

"Perhaps  not.     .     .     .     But  I  think " 

"I  think,  on  the  contrary,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  that,  as 
the  murderers  passed  through  the  garden  in  coming  and 
going,  there  might  be  a  chance  — 

"Mazeroux,"  said  M.  Desmalions,  "go  outside  and 
make  a  more  thorough  inspection." 

The  sergeant  went  out.  Perenna,  who  was  once  more 
standing  at  one  side,  heard  the  Prefect  of  Police  repeat- 
ing to  the  examining  magistrate: 

"Ah,  if  we  only  had  a  proof,  just  one!    The  woman  is 


102  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

evidently  guilty.  The  presumption  against  her  is  too 
great!  .  .  .  And  then  there  are  Cosmo  Morning- 
ton's  millions.  .  .  .  But,  on  the  other  hand,  look 
at  her  .  .  .  look  at  all  the  honesty  in  that  pretty 
face  of  hers,  look  at  all  the  sincerity  of  her  grief." 

She  was  still  crying,  with  fitful  sobs  and  starts  of  in- 
dignant protest  that  made  her  clench  her  fists.  At  one  mo- 
ment she  took  her  tear-soaked  handkerchief,  bit  it  with  her 
teeth  and  tore  it,  after  the  manner  of  certain  actresses. 

Perenna  saw  those  beautiful  white  teeth,  a  little  wide, 
moist  and  gleaming,  rending  the  dainty  cambric.  And 
he  thought  of  the  marks  of  teeth  on  the  apple.  And  he 
was  seized  with  an  extreme  longing  to  know  the  truth. 
Was  it  the  same  pair  of  jaws  that  had  left  its  impress  in 
the  pulp  of  the  fruit? 

Mazeroux  returned.  M.  Desmalions  moved  briskly  to- 
ward the  sergeant,  who  showed  him  the  apple  which  he 
had  found  under  the  ivy.  And  Perenna  at  once  realized 
the  supreme  importance  which  the  Prefect  of  Police  at- 
tached to  Mazeroux's  explanations  and  to  his  unexpected 
discovery. 

A  conversation  of  some  length  took  place  between  the 
magistrates  and  ended  in  the  decision  which  Don  Luis 
foresaw.  M.  Desmalions  walked  across  the  room  to 
Mme.  Fauville.  It  was  the  catastrophe.  He  reflected 
for  a  second  on  the  manner  in  which  he  should  open  this 
final  contest,  and  then  he  asked: 

"Are  you  still  unable,  Madame,  to  tell  us  how  you 
employed  your  time  last  night?" 

She  made  an  effort  and  whispered: 

"Yes,  yes.  ...  I  took  a  taxi  and  drove  about. 
.  .  I  also  walked  a  little " 


THE  CLOUDED  TURQUOISE  103 

"That  is  a  fact  which  we  can  easily  verify  when  we 
have  found  the  driver  of  the  taxi.  Meanwhile,  there  is 
an  opportunity  of  removing  the  somewhat  .  .  .  griev- 
ous impression  which  your  silence  has  left  on  our  minds." 

"I  am  quite  ready 

"It  is  this:  the  person  or  one  of  the  persons  who  took 
part  in  the  crime  appears  to  have  bitten  into  an  apple 
which  was  afterward  thrown  away  in  the  garden  and 
which  has  just  been  found.  To  put  an  end  to  any  sup- 
positions concerning  yourself,  we  should  like  you  to 
perform  the  same  action." 

"Oh,  certainly!"  she  cried,  eagerly.  "If  this  is  all 
you  need  to  convince  you  - 

She  took  one  of  the  three  apples  which  Desmalions 
handed  her  from  the  dish  and  lifted  it  to  her  mouth. 

It  was  a  decisive  act.  If  the  two  marks  resembled 
each  other,  the  proof  existed,  assured  and  undeniable. 

Before  completing  her  movement,  she  stopped  short, 
as  though  seized  with  a  sudden  fear.  .  .  .  Fear  of 
what?  Fear  of  the  monstrous  chance  that  might  be  her 
undoing?  Or  fear  rather  of  the  dread  weapon  which  she 
was  about  to  deliver  against  herself?  In  any  case  noth- 
ing accused  her  with  greater  directness  than  this  last 
hesitation,  which  was  incomprehensible  if  she  was  inno- 
cent, but  clear  as  day  if  she  was  guilty! 

"What  are  you  afraid  of,  Madame?"  asked  M.  Des- 
malions. 

"Nothing,  nothing,"  she  said,  shuddering.  "I  don't 
know.  ...  I  am  afraid  of  everything.  ...  It 
is  all  so  horrible 

"But,  Madame,  I  assure  you  that  what  we  are  asking 
of  you  has  no  sort  of  importance  and,  I  am  persuaded, 


104  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

can  only  have  a  fortunate  result  for  you.  If  you  don'? 
mind,  therefore 

She  raised  her  hand  higher  and  yet  higher,  with  a  slow- 
ness that  betrayed  her  uneasiness.  And  really,  in  the 
fashion  in  which  things  were  happening,  the  scene  was 
marked  by  a  certain  solemnity  and  tragedy  that  wrung 
every  heart. 

"And,  if  I  refuse?"  she  asked,  suddenly. 

"You  are  absolutely  entitled  to  refuse,"  said  the  Pre- 
fect of  Police.  "But  is  it  worth  while,  Madame?  I 
am  sure  that  your  counsel  would  be  the  first  to  advise 

you- 

"My  counsel?"  she  stammered,  understanding  the 
formidable  meaning  conveyed  by  that  reply. 

And,  suddenly,  with  a  fierce  resolve  and  the  almost 
ferocious  air  that  contorts  the  face  when  great  dangers 
threaten,  she  made  the  movement  which  they  were  press- 
ing her  to  make.  She  opened  her  mouth.  They  saw 
the  gleam  of  the  white  teeth.  At  one  bite,  the  white 
teeth  dug  into  the  fruit. 

"There  you  are,  Monsieur,"  she  said. 

M.  Desmalions  turned  to  the  examining  magistrate. 

"Have  you  the  apple  found  in  the  garden?" 

"Here,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

M.  Desmalions  put  the  two  apples  side  by  side. 

And  those  who  crowded  round  him,  anxiously  looking 
on,  all  uttered  one  exclamation. 

The  two  marks  of  teeth  were  identical. 

Identical!  Certainly,  before  declaring  the  identity  of 
every  detail,  the  absolute  analogy  of  the  marks  of  each 
tooth,  they  must  wait  for  the  results  of  the  expert's  re- 
port. But  there  was  one  thing  which  there  was  no  mis- 


THE  CLOUDED  TURQUOISE  105 

taking  and  that  was  the  complete  similarity  of  the  two 
curves. 

In  either  fruit  the  rounded  arch  was  bent  according 
to  the  same  inflection.  The  two  semicircles  could  have 
fitted  one  into  the  other,  both  very  narrow,  both  a  little 
long-shaped  and  oval  and  of  a  restricted  radius  which 
was  the  very  character  of  the  jaw. 

The  men  did  not  speak  a  word.  M.  Desmalions  raised 
his  head.  Mme.  Fauville  did  not  move,  stood  livid  and  mad 
with  terror.  But  all  the  sentiments  of  terror,  stupor  and 
indignation  that  she  might  simulate  with  her  mobile  face 
and  her  immense  gifts  as  an  actress  did  not  prevail  against 
the  compelling  proof  that  presented  itself  to  every  eye. 

The  two  imprints  were  identical !  The  same  teeth  had 
bitten  into  both  apples! 

"Madame-       "  the  Prefect  of  Police  began. 

"No,  no,"  she  cried,  seized  with  a  fit  of  fury,  "no,  it's 
not  true.  .  .  .  This  is  all  just  a  nightmare.  .  .  . 
No,  you  are  never  going  to  arrest  me?  I  in  prison !  Why, 
it's  horrible!  .  .  .  What  have  I  done?  Oh,  I  swear 
that  you  are  mistaken  — 

She  took  her  head  between  her  hands. 

"Oh,  my  brain  is  throbbing  as  if  it  would  burst!  What 
does  all  this  mean?  I  have  done  no  wrong.  ...  I 
knew  nothing.  It  was  you  who  told  me  this  morning. 
.  .  .  Could  I  have  suspected?  My  poor  husband 
.  .  .  and  that  dear  Edmond  who  loved  me  .  .  . 
and  whom  I  loved!  Why  should  I  have  killed  them? 
Tell  me  that!  Why  don't  you  answer?"  she  demanded. 
"People  don't  commit  murder  without  a  motive.  .  .  . 
Well?  .  .  .  Well?  .  .  .  Answer  me,  can't  you?" 

And  once  more  convulsed  with  anger,  standing  in  an 


106  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

aggressive  attitude,  with  her  clenched  hands  outstretched 
at  the  group  of  magistrates,  she  screamed: 

"You're  no  better  than  butchers  .  .  .  you  have 
no  right  to  torture  a  woman  like  this.  .  .  .  Oh,  how 
horrible!  To  accuse  me  ...  to  arrest  me  .  .  . 
for  nothing!  .  .  .  Oh,  it's  abominable !  .  .  .  What 
butchers  you  all  are !  .  .  .  And  it's  you  in  particular," 
addressing  Perenna,  "it's  you  —  yes,  I  know  —  it's  you 
who  are  the  enemy. 

"Oh,  I  understand!  You  had  your  reasons,  you  were 
here  last  night.  .  .  .  Then  why  don't  they  arrest 
you?  Why  not  you,  as  you  were  here  and  I  was  not  and 
know  nothing,  absolutely  nothing  of  what  happened. 
.  .  .  Why  isn't  it  you?" 

The  last  words  were  pronounced  in  a  hardly  intelligible 
fashion.  She  had  no  strength  left.  She  had  to  sit  down, 
with  her  head  bent  over  her  knees,  and  she  wept  once 
more,  abundantly. 

Perenna  went  up  to  her  and,  raising  her  forehead  and 
uncovering  the  tear-stained  face,  said: 

"The  imprints  of  teeth  in  both  apples  are  absolutely 
identical.  There  is  therefore  no  doubt  whatever  but 
that  the  first  comes  from  you  as  well  as  the  second." 

"No!  "she  said. 

"Yes,"  he  affirmed.  "That  is  a  fact  which  it  is  ma- 
terially impossible  to  deny.  But  the  first  impression 
may  have  been  left  by  you  before  last  night,  that  is  to 
say,  you  may  have  bitten  that  apple  yesterday,  for  in- 
stance   

She  stammered: 

"Do  you  think  so?  Yes,  perhaps,  I  seem  to  remembel 
—  yesterday  morning  - 


THE  CLOUDED  TURQUOISE  107 

But  the  Prefect  of  Police  interrupted  her. 

"It  is  useless,  Madame;  I  have  just  questioned  your 
servant,  Silvestre.  He  bought  the  fruit  himself  at  eight 
o'clock  last  evening.  When  M.  Fauville  went  to  bed, 
there  were  four  apples  in  the  dish.  At  eight  o'clock  this 
morning  there  were  only  three.  Therefore  the  one  found 
in  the  garden  is  incontestably  the  fourth;  and  this  fourth 
apple  was  marked  last  night.  And  the  mark  is  the  mark 
of  your  teeth." 

She  stammered: 

"It  was  not  I  ...  it  was  not  I  ...  that 
mark  is  not  mine." 

"But- 

"That  mark  is  not  mine.  ...  I  swear  it  as  I  hope 
to  be  saved.  .  .  .  And  I  also  swear  that  I  shall  die, 
yes,  die.  ...  I  prefer  death  to  prison.  ...  I 
shall  kill  myself.  ...  I  shall  kill  myself " 

Her  eyes  were  staring  before  her.  She  stiffened  her 
muscles  and  made  a  supreme  effort  to  rise  from  her  chair. 
But,  once  on  her  feet,  she  tottered  and  fell  fainting  on 
the  floor. 

While  she  was  being  seen  to,  Mazeroux  beckoned  to 
Don  Luis  and  whispered: 

"Clear  out,  Chief." 

"Ah,  so  the  orders  are  revoked?     I'm  free?" 

"Chief,  take  a  look  at  the  beggar  who  came  in  ten 
minutes  ago  and  who's  talking  to  the  Prefect.  Do  you 
know  him?" 

"Hang  it  all!"  said  Perenna,  after  glancing  at  a  large 
red-faced  man  who  did  not  take  his  eyes  off  him.  "Hang 
it,  it's  Weber,  the  deputy  chief!" 

"  And  he's  recognized  you,  Chief.'     He  recognized  Lupin 


108  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

at  first  sight.  There's  no  fake  that  he  can't  see  through. 
He's  got  the  knack  of  it.  Well,  Chief,  just  think  of  all 
the  tricks  you've  played  on  him  and  ask  yourself  if  he'll 
stick  at  anything  to  have  his  revenge!" 

"And  you  think  he  has  told  the  Prefect?" 

"Of  course  he  has;  and  the  Prefect  has  ordered  my 
mates  to  keep  you  in  view.  If  you  make  the  least  show 
of  trying  to  escape  them,  they'll  collar  you." 

"In  that  case,  there's  nothing  to  be  done?" 

"Nothing  to  be  done?  Why,  it's  a  question  of  putting 
them  off  your  scent  and  mighty  quickly!" 

"What  good  would  that  do  me,  as  I'm  going  home  and 
they  know  where  I  live?" 

"Eh>  what?  Can  you  have  the  cheek  to  go  home  after 
what's  happened?" 

'  *  Where  do  you  expect  me  to  sleep  ?   Under  the  bridges  ? ' " 

"But,  dash  it  all,  don't  you  understand  that,  after  this 
job,  there  will  be  the  most  infernal  stir,  that  you're  com- 
promised up  to  the  neck  as  it  is,  and  that  everybody 
will  turn  against  you?" 

"Well?" 

"Drop  the  business." 

"And  the  murderers  of  Cosmo  Mornington  and  the 
Fauvilles?" 

"The  police  will  see  to  that." 
,  "Alexandre,  you're  an  ass." 

"Then  become  Lupin  again,  the  invisible,  impregnable 
Lupin,  and  do  your  own  fighting,  as  you  used  to.  But  in 
Heaven's  name  don't  remain  Perenna!  It  is  too  danger- 
ous. And  don't  occupy  yourself  officially  with  a  business 
in  which  you  are  not  interested." 

"The  things  you  say,  Alexandre!    I  am  interested  in 


THE  CLOUDED  TURQUOISE  109 

it  to  the  tune  of  a  hundred  millions.  If  Perenna  does 
not  stick  to  his  post,  the  hundred  millions  will  be  snatched 
from  under  his  nose.  And,  on  the  one  occasion  when  I 
can  earn  a  few  honest  centimes,  that  would  be  most  an- 
noying." 

"And,  if  they  arrest  you?" 

"No  go!     I'm  dead!" 

"Lupin  is  dead.     But  Perenna  is  alive." 

"As  they  haven't  arrested  me  to-day,  I'm  easy  in  my 
mind." 

"It's  only  put  off.  And  the  orders  are  strict  from  this 
moment  onward.  They  mean  to  surround  your  house 
and  to  keep  watch  day  and  night." 

"Capital.     I  always  was  frightened  at  night." 

"But,  good  Lord!  what  are  you  hoping  for?" 

"I  hope  for  nothing,  Alexandre.  I  am  sure.  I  am 
sure  now  that  they  will  not  dare  arrest  me." 

"Do  you  imagine  that  Weber  will  stand  on  ceremony?" 

"I  don't  care  a  hang  about  Weber.  Without  orders, 
Weber  can  do  nothing." 

"But  they'll  give  him  his  orders." 

"The  order  to  shadow  me,  yes;  to  arrest  me,  no.  The 
Prefect  of  Police  has  committed  himself  about  me  to 
such  an  extent  that  he  will  be  obliged  to  back  me  up. 
And  then  there's  this:  the  whole  affair  is  so  absurd,  so 
complicated,  that  you  people  will  never  find  your  way 
out  of  it  alone.  Sooner  or  later,  you  will  come  and  fetch 
me.  For  there  is  no  one  but  myself  able  to  fight  such 
adversaries  as  these:  not  you  nor  Weber,  nor  any  of 
your  pals  at  the  detective  office.  I  shall  expect  your  visit, 
Alexandre." 

On  the  next  day  an  expert  examination  identified  the 


110  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

tooth  prints  on  the  two  apples  and  likewise  established 
the  fact  that  the  print  on  the  cake  of  chocolate  was  simi- 
lar to  the  others. 

Also,  the  driver  of  a  taxicab  came  and  gave  evidence 
that  a  lady  engaged  him  as  she  left  the  opera,  told  him 
to  drive  her  straight  to  the  end  of  the  Avenue  Henri 
Martin,  and  left  the  cab  on  reaching  that  spot. 

Now  the  end  of  the  Avenue  Henri  Martin  was  within 
five  minutes'  walk  of  the  Fauvilles'  house. 

The  man  was  brought  into  Mme.  Fauville's  presence 
and  recognized  her  at  once. 

What  had  she  done  in  that  neighbourhood  for  over  an 
hour? 

Marie  Fauville  was  taken  to  the  central  lockup,  was 
entered  on  the  register,  and  slept,  that  night,  at  the  Saint- 
Lazare  prison. 

That  same  day,  when  the  reporters  were  beginning 
to  publish  details  of  the  investigation,  such  as  the  dis- 
covery of  the  tooth  prints,  but  when  they  did  not  yet 
know  to  whom  to  attribute  them,  two  of  the  leading 
dailies  used  as  a  headline  for  their  article  the  very  words 
which  Don  Luis  Perenna  had  employed  to  describe  the 
marks  on  the  apple,  the  sinister  words  which  so  well  sug- 
gested the  fierce,  savage,  and  so  to  speak,  brutal  character 
of  the  incident: 

"THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER." 


CHAPTER  FIVE 

THE   IRON   CURTAIN 

IT  IS  sometimes  an  ungrateful  task  to  tell  the  story  of 
Arsene  Lupin's  life,  for  the  reason  that  each  of  his 
adventures  is  partly  known  to  the  public,  having  at 
the  time  formed  the  subject  of  much  eager  comment, 
whereas   his   biographer   is  obliged,  if  he  would  throw 
light  upon  what  is  not  known,  to  begin  at  the  beginning 
and  to  relate  in  full  detail  all  that  which  is  already  public 
property. 

It  is  because  of  this  necessity  that  I  am  compelled  to 
speak  once  more  of  the  extreme  excitement  which  the 
news  of  that  shocking  series  of  crimes  created  in  France, 
in  Europe  and  throughout  the  civilized  world.  The  public 
heard  of  four  murders  practically  all  at  once,  for  the  par- 
ticulars of  Cosmo  Mornington's  will  were  published  two 
days  later. 

There  was  no  doubt  that  the  same  person  had  killed 
Cosmo  Mornington,  Inspector  Verot,  Fauville  the  engi- 
neer, and  his  son  Edmond.  The  same  person  had  made 
the  identical  sinister  bite,  leaving  against  himself  or  herself, 
with  a  heedlessness  that  seemed  to  show  the  avenging  hand 
of  fate,  a  most  impressive  and  incriminating  proof,  a 
proof  which  made  people  shudder  as  they  would  have 
shuddered  at  the  awful  reality:  the  marks  of  his  or  her 
teeth,  the  teeth  of  the  tiger! 

ill 


112  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

And,  in  the  midst  of  all  this  bloodshed,  at  the  most 
tragic  moment  of  the  dismal  tragedy,  behold  the  strangest 
of  figures  emerging  from  the  darkness! 

An  heroic  adventurer,  endowed  with  astounding  intelli- 
gence and  insight,  had  in  a  few  hours  partly  unravelled 
the  tangled  skeins  of  the  plot,  divined  the  murder  of 
Cosmo  Mornington,  proclaimed  the  murder  of  Inspector 
Verot,  taken  the  conduct  of  the  investigation  into  his 
own  hands,  delivered  to  justice  the  inhuman  creature 
whose  beautiful  white  teeth  fitted  the  marks  as  precious 
stones  fit  their  settings,  received  a  cheque  for  a  million 
francs  on  the  day  after  these  exploits  and,  finally,  found 
himself  the  probable  heir  to  an  immense  fortune. 

And  here  was  Arsene  Lupin  coming  to  life  again! 

For  the  public  made  no  mistake  about  that,  and,  with 
wonderful  intuition,  proclaimed  aloud  that  Don  Luis 
Perenna  was  Arsene  Lupin,  before  a  close  examination 
of  the  facts  had  more  or  less  confirmed  the  supposition. 

"But  he's  dead!"  objected  the  doubters. 

To  which  the  others  replied: 

"Yes,  Dolores  Kesselbach's  corpse  was  recovered  under 
the  still  smoking  ruins  of  a  little  chalet  near  the  Luxem- 
burg frontier  and,  with  it,  the  corpse  of  a  man  whom  the 
police  identified  as  Arsene  Lupin.  But  everything  goes 
to  show  that  the  whole  scene  was  contrived  by  Lupin, 
who,  for  reasons  of  his  own,  wanted  to  be  thought  dead. 
And  everything  shows  that  the  police  accepted  and  legal- 
ized the  theory  of  his  death  only  because  they  wished  to 
be  rid  of  their  everlasting  adversary. 

As  a  proof,  we  have  the  confidences  made  by  Valen- 
glay,  who  was  Prime  Minister  at  the  time  and  whom  the 
chances  of  politics  have  just  replaced  at  the  head  of  the 


THE  IRON  CURTAIN  113 

government.  And  there  is  the  mysterious  incident  on 
the  island  of  Capri  when  the  German  Emperor,  just  as  he 
was  about  to  be  buried  under  a  landslip,  was  saved  by  a 
hermit  who,  according  to  the  German  version,  was  none 
other  than  Arsene  Lupin." 

To  this  came  a  fresh  objection: 

"Very  well;  but  read  the  newspapers  of  the  time:  ten 
minutes  afterward,  the  hermit  flung  himself  into  the  sea 
from  Tiberius'  Leap."  And  the  answer: 

"Yes,  but  the  body  was  never  found.  And,  as  it  hap- 
pens, we  know  that  a  steamer  picked  up  a  man  who  was 
making  signals  to  her  and  that  this  steamer  was  on  her 
way  to  Algiers.  Well,  a  few  days  later,  Don  Luis  Perenna 
enlisted  in  the  Foreign  Legion  at  Sidi-bel-Abbes." 

Of  course,  the  controversy  upon  which  the  newspapers 
embarked  on  this  subject  was  carried  on  discreetly. 
Everybody  was  afraid  of  Lupin;  and  the  journalists  main- 
tained a  certain  reserve  in  their  articles,  confined  them- 
selves to  comparing  dates  and  pointing  out  coincidences, 
and  refrained  from  speaking  too  positively  of  any  Lupin 
that  might  lie  hidden  under  the  mask  of  Perenna. 

But,  as  regards  the  private  in  the  Foreign  Legion  and 
his  stay  in  Morocco,  they  took  their  revenge  and  let  them- 
selves go  freely. 

Major  d'Astrignac  had  spoken.  Other  officers,  other 
comrades  of  Perenna's,  related  what  they  had  seen.  The 
reports  and  daily  orders  concerning  him  were  published. 
And  what  became  known  as  "The  Hero's  Idyll"  began 
to  take  the  form  of  a  sort  of  record  each  page  of  which 
described  the  maddest  and  unlikeliest  of  facts. 

At  Mediouna,  on  the  twenty-fourth  of  March,  the 
adjutant,  Captain  Pollex,  awarded  Private  Perenna  four 


114  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

days'  cells  on  a  charge  of  having  broken  out  of  camp 
past  two  sentries  after  evening  roll  call,  contrary  to  orders, 
and  being  absent  without  leave  until  noon  on  the  follow- 
ing day.  Perenna,  the  report  went  on  to  say,  brought 
back  the  body  of  his  sergeant,  killed  in  ambush.  And 
in  the  margin  was  this  note,  in  the  colonel's  hand: 

"The  colonel  commanding  doubles  Private  Perenna's  award, 
but  mentions  his  name  in  orders  and  congratulates  and  thanks 
him." 

After  the  fight  of  Ber-Rechid,  Lieutenant  Fardet's  de- 
tachment being  obliged  to  retreat  before  a  band  of  four 
hundred  Moors,  Private  Perenna  asked  leave  to  cover 
the  retreat  by  installing  himself  in  a  kasbah. 

"How  many  men  do  you  want,  Perenna?" 

"None,  sir." 

"What!  Surely  you  don't  propose  to  cover  a  retreat 
all  by  yourself?" 

"What  pleasure  would  there  be  in  dying,  sir,  if  others 
were  to  die  as  well  as  I?" 

At  his  request,  they  left  him  a  dozen  rifles,  and  divided 
with  him  the  cartridges  that  remained.  His  share  came 
to  seventy-five. 

The  detachment  got  away  without  being  further  mo- 
lested. Next  day,  when  they  were  able  to  return  with 
reinforcements,  they  surprised  the  Moors  lying  in  wait 
around  the  kasbah,  but  afraid  to  approach.  The  ground 
was  covered  with  seventy-five  of  their  killed. 

Our  men  drove  them  off.  They  found  Private  Perenna 
stretched  on  the  floor  of  the  kasbah.  They  thought  him 
dead.  He  was  asleep! 


THE  IRON  CURTAIN  115 

He  had  not  a  single  cartridge  left.  But  each  of  his 
seventy-five  bullets  had  gone  home. 

What  struck  the  imagination  of  the  public  most,  how- 
ever, was  Major  Comte  d'Astrignac's  story  of  the  battle 
of  Dar-Dbibarh.  The  major  confessed  that  this  battle, 
which  relieved  Fez  at  the  moment  when  we  thought  that 
all  was  lost  and  which  created  such  a  sensation  in  France, 
was  won  before  it  was  fought  and  that  it  was  won  by 
Perenna,  alone! 

At  daybreak,  when  the  Moorish  tribes  were  preparing 
for  the  attack,  Private  Perenna  lassoed  an  Arab  horse 
that  was  galloping  across  the  plain,  sprang  on  the  animal, 
which  had  no  saddle,  bridle,  nor  any  sort  of  harness,  and 
without  jacket,  cap,  or  arms,  with  his  white  shirt  bulging 
out  and  a  cigarette  between  his  teeth,  charged,  with  his 
hands  in  his  trousers-pockets! 

He  charged  straight  toward  the  enemy,  galloped 
through  their  camp,  riding  in  and  out  among  the  tents, 
and  then  left  it  by  the  same  place  by  which  he  had 
gone  in. 

This  quite  inconceivable  death  ride  spread  such 
consternation  among  the  Moors  that  their  attack  was 
half-hearted  and  the  battle  was  won  without  resist- 
ance. 

This,  together  with  numberless  other  feats  of  bravado, 
went  to  make  up  the  heroic  legend  of  Perenna.  It  threw 
into  relief  the  superhuman  energy,  the  marvellous  reck- 
lessness, the  bewildering  fancy,  the  spirit  of  adventure,  the 
physical  dexterity,  and  the  coolness  of  a  singularly  mys- 
terious individual  whom  it  was  impossible  not  to  take  for 
Arsene  Lupin,  but  a  new  and  greater  Arsene  Lupin,  dig- 
nified, idealized,  and  ennobled  by  his  exploits. 


116  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

One  morning,  a  fortnight  after  the  double  murder  in 
the  Boulevard  Suchet,  this  extraordinary  man,  who 
aroused  such  eager  interest  and  who  was  spoken  of  on 
every  side  as  a  fabulous  and  more  or  less  impossible  being: 
one  morning,  Don  Luis  Perenna  dressed  himself  and  went 
the  rounds  of  his  house. 

It  was  a  comfortable  and  roomy  eighteenth-century 
mansion,  situated  at  the  entrance  to  the  Faubourg  Saint- 
Germain,  on  the  little  Place  du  Palais-Bourbon.  He  had 
bought  it,  furnished,  from  a  rich  Hungarian,  Count 
Malonyi,  keeping  for  his  own  use  the  horses,  carriages, 
motor  cars,  and  taking  over  the  eight  servants  and  even 
the  count's  secretary,  Mile.  Levasseur,  who  undertook 
to  manage  the  household  and  to  receive  and  get  rid  of 
the  visitors  —  journalists,  bores  and  curiosity-dealers — 
attracted  by  the  luxury  of  the  house  and  the  reputation 
of  its  new  owner. 

After  finishing  his  inspection  of  the  stables  and  garage, 
he  walked  across  the  courtyard  and  went  up  to  his  study, 
pushed  open  one  of  the  windows  and  raised  his  head. 
Above  him  was  a  slanting  mirror;  and  this  mirror  reflected, 
beyond  the  courtyard  and  its  surrounding  wall,  one  whole 
side  of  the  Place  du  Palais-Bourbon. 

"Bother ! "  he  said.  " Those  confounded  detectives  are 
still  there.  And  this  has  been  going  on  for  a  fortnight." 
I'm  getting  tired  of  this  spying." 

He  sat  down,  in  a  bad  temper,  to  look  through  his 
letters,  tearing  up,  after  he  had  read  them,  those  which 
concerned  him  personally  and  making  notes  on  the  others, 
such  as  applications  for  assistance  and  requests  for  inter- 
views. When  he  had  finished,  he  rang  the  bell. 

"Ask  Mile.  Levasseur  to  bring  me  the  newspapers." 


THE  IRON  CURTAIN  117 

She  had  been  the  Hungarian  count's  reader  as  well  as 
his  secretary;  and  Perenna  had  trained  her  to  pick  out 
in  the  newspapers  anything  that  referred  to  him,  and  to 
give  him  each  morning  an  exact  account  of  the  proceed- 
ings that  were  being  taken  against  Mme.  Fauville. 

Always  dressed  in  black,  with  a  very  elegant  and  grace- 
ful figure,  she  had  attracted  him  from  the  first.  She  had 
an  air  of  great  dignity  and  a  grave  and  thoughtful  face 
which  made  it  impossible  to  penetrate  the  secret  of  her 
soul,  and  which  would  have  seemed  austere  had  it  not 
been  framed  in  a  cloud  of  fair  curls,  resisting  all  attempts 
at  discipline  and  setting  a  halo  of  light  and  gayety  around 
her. 

Her  voice  had  a  soft  and  musical  tone  which  Perenna 
loved  to  hear;  and,  himself  a  little  perplexed  by  Mile. 
Levasseur's  attitude  of  reserve,  he  wondered  what  she 
could  think  of  him,  of  his  mode  of  life,  and  of  all  that  the 
newspapers  had  to  tell  of  his  mysterious  past. 

"Nothing  new?"  he  asked,  as  he  glanced  at  the  head- 
ings of  the  articles. 

She  read  the  reports  relating  to  Mme.  Fauville;  and 
Don  Luis  could  see  that  the  police  investigations  were 
making  no  headway.  Marie  Fauville  still  kept  to  her 
first  method,  that  of  weeping,  making  a  show  of  indigna- 
tion, and  assuming  entire  ignorance  of  the  facts  upon 
which  she  was  being  examined. 

"It's  ridiculous,"  he  said,  aloud.  "I  have  never  seen 
any  one  defend  herself  so  clumsily." 

"Still,  if  she's  innocent?" 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Mile.  Levasseur  had  uttered 
an  opinion  or  rather  a  remark  upon  the  case.  Don  Luis 
looked  at  her  in  great  surprise. 


118  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"So  you  think  her  innocent,  Mademoiselle?" 

She  seemed  ready  to  reply  and  to  explain  the  meaning 
of  her  interruption.  It  was  as  though  she  were  removing 
her  impassive  mask  and  about  to  allow  her  face  to  adopt 
a  more  animated  expression  under  the  impulse  of  her 
inner  feelings.  But  she  restrained  herself  with  a  visible 
effort,  and  murmured: 

"  I  don't  know.     I  have  no  views.'* 

"Possibly,"  he  said,  watching  her  with  curiosity,  "but 
you  have  a  doubt:  a  doubt  which  would  be  permissible 
if  it  were  not  for  the  marks  left  by  Mme.  Fauville's  own 
teeth.  Those  marks,  you  see,  are  something  more  than 
a  signature,  more  than  a  confession  of  guilt.  And,  as 
long  as  she  is  unable  to  give  a  satisfactory  explanation  of 
this  point " 

But  Marie  Fauville  vouchsafed  not  the  slightest  ex- 
planation of  this  or  of  anything  else.  She  remained  im,- 
penetrable.  On  the  other  hand,  the  police  failed  to  dis- 
cover her  accomplice  or  accomplices,  or  the  man  with 
the  ebony  walking-stick  and  the  tortoise-shell  glasses 
whom  the  waiter  at  the  Cafe  du  Pont-Neuf  had  described 
to  Mazeroux  and  who  seemed  to  have  played  a  singularly 
suspicious  part.  In  short,  there  was  not  a  ray  of  light 
thrown  upon  the  subject. 

Equally  vain  was  all  search  for  the  traces  of  Victor, 
the  Roussel  sister's  first  cousin,  who  would  have  inherited 
the  Mornington  bequest  in  the  absence  of  any  direct 
heirs. 

"Is  that  all?"  asked  Perenna. 

"No,"  said  Mile.  Lavasseur,  "there  is  an  article  in  the 
Echo  de  France " 

"Relating  to  me?" 


THE  IRON  CURTAIN  119 

"I  presume  so,  Monsieur.  It  is  called,  'Why  Don't 
They  Arrest  Him?'" 

"That  concerns  me,"  he  said,  with  a  laugh. 
He  took  the  newspaper  and  read: 

"Why  do  they  not  arrest  him?  Why  go  against  logic  and 
prolong  an  unnatural  situation  which  no  decent  man  can 
understand?  This  is  the  question  which  everybody  is  asking 
and  to  which  our  investigations  enable  us  to  furnish  a  precise 
reply. 

"Two  years  ago,  in  other  words,  three  years  after  the  pre- 
tended death  of  Arsene  Lupin,  the  police,  having  discovered  or 
believing  they  had  discovered  that  Arsene  Lupin  was  really 
none  other  than  one  Floriani,  born  at  Blois  and  since  lost  to 
sight,  caused  the  register  to  be  inscribed,  on  the  page  re- 
lating to  this  Floriani,  with  the  word  'Deceased,'  followed  by 
the  words  'Under  the  alias  of  Arsene  Lupin.' 

"Consequently,  to  bring  Arsene  Lupin  back  to  life,  there 
would  be  wanted  something  more  than  the  undeniable  proof 
of  his  existence,  which  would  not  be  impossible.  The  most 
complicated  wheels  in  the  administrative  machine  would  have 
to  be  set  in  motion,  and  a  decree  obtained  from  the  Council  of 
State. 

"  Now  it  would  seem  that  M.  Valenglay,  the  Prime  Minister, 
together  with  the  Prefect  of  Police,  is  opposed  to  making  any 
too  minute  inquiries  capable  of  opening  up  a  scandal  which 
the  authorities  are  anxious  to  avoid.  Bring  Arsene  Lupin 
back  to  life?  Recommence  the  struggle  with  that  accursed 
scoundrel?  Risk  a  fresh  defeat  and  fresh  ridicule?  No,  no, 
and  again  no ! 

"And  thus  is  brought  about  this  unprecedented,  inadmissible, 
inconceivable,  disgraceful  situation,  that  Arsene  Lupin,  the 
hardened  thief,  the  impenitent  criminal,  the  robber-king, 
the  emperor  of  burglars  and  swindlers,  is  able  to-day,  not 


120  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

clandestinely,  but  in  the  sight  and  hearing  of  the  whole  world, 
to  pursue  the  most  formidable  task  that  he  has  yet  undertaken, 
to  live  publicly  under  a  name  which  is  not  his  own,  but  which 
he  has  incontestably  made  his  own,  to  destroy  with  impunity 
four  persons  who  stood  in  his  way,  to  cause  the  imprisonment 
of  an  innocent  woman  against  whom  he  himself  has  accumu- 
lated false  evidence,  and  at  the  end  of  all,  despite  the  protests 
of  common  sense  and  thanks  to  an  unavowed  complicity,  to 
receive  the  hundred  millions  of  the  Mornington  legacy. 

"There  is  the  ignominious  truth  in  a  nutshell.  It  is  well 
that  it  should  be  stated.  Let  us  hope,  now  that  it  stands 
revealed,  that  it  will  influence  the  future  conduct  of  events." 

"At  any  rate,  it  will  influence  the  conduct  of  the  idiot 
who  wrote  that  article,"  said  Lupin,  with  a  grin. 

He  dismissed  Mile.  Lavasseur  and  rang  up  Major 
d'Astrignac  on  the  telephone. 

"Is  that  you,  Major?  Perenna  speaking." 

"Yes,  what  is  it?" 

"Have  you  read  the  article  in  the  Echo  de  France?" 

"Yes." 

"Would  it  bore  you  very  much  to  call  on  that  gentle- 
man and  ask  for  satisfaction  in  my  name?" 

"Oh!    A  duel!" 

"It's  got  to  be,  Major.  All  these  sportsmen  are  weary- 
ing me  with  their  lucubrations.  They  must  be  gagged. 
This  fellow  will  pay  for  the  rest." 

"Well,  of  course,  if  you're  bent  on  it 

"I  am,  very  much." 

The  preliminaries  were  entered  upon  without  delay. 
The  editor  of  the  Echo  de  France  declared  that  the  article 
had  been  sent  in  without  a  signature,  typewritten,  and 


THE  IRON  CURTAIN 

that  it  had  been  published  without  his  knowledge;  but 
he  accepted  the  entire  responsibility. 

That  same  day,  at  three  o'clock,  Don  Luis  Perenna, 
accompanied  by  Major  d'Astrignac,  another  officer,  and 
a  doctor,  left  the  house  in  the  Place  du  Palais-Bourbon 
in  his  car,  and,  followed  by  a  taxi  crammed  with  the  de- 
tectives engaged  in  watching  him,  drove  to  the  Pare  des 
Princes. 

While  waiting  for  the  arrival  of  the  adversary,  the 
Comte  d'Astrignac  took  Don  Luis  aside. 

"My  dear  Perenna,  I  ask  you  no  questions.  I  don't 
want  to  know  how  much  truth  there  is  in  all  that  is  being 
written  about  you,  or  what  your  real  name  is.  To  me, 
you  are  Perenna  of  the  Legion,  and  that  is  all  I  care 
about.  Your  past  began  in  Morocco.  As  for  the  future, 
I  know  that,  whatever  happens  and  however  great  the 
temptation,  your  only  aim  will  be  to  revenge  Cosmo 
Mornington  and  protect  his  heirs.  But  there's  one  thing 
that  worries  me." 

"Speak  out,  Major." 

"Give  me  your  word  that  you  won't  kill  this  man." 

"Two  months  in  bed,  Major;  will  that  suit  you?" 

"Too  long.     A  fortnight." 

"Done." 

The  two  adversaries  took  up  their  positions.  At  the 
second  encounter,  the  editor  of  the  Echo  de  France  fell, 
wounded  in  the  chest. 

"Oh,  that's  too  bad  of  you,  Perenna!"  growled  the 
Comte  d'Astrignac.  "You  promised  me " 

"And  I've  kept  my  promise,  Major." 

The  doctors  were  examining  the  injured  man.  Presently 
one  of  them  rose  and  said: 


122  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"It's  nothing.  Three  weeks'  rest,  at  most.  Only  a 
third  of  an  inch  more,  and  he  would  have  been  done  for." 

"Yes,  but  that  third  of  an  inch  isn't  there,"  murmured 
Perenna. 

Still  followed  by  the  detectives'  motor  cab,  Don  Luis 
returned  to  the  Faubourg  Saint-Germain;  and  it  was  then 
that  an  incident  occurred  which  was  to  puzzle  him  greatly 
and  throw  a  most  extraordinary  light  on  the  article  in 
the  Echo  de  France. 

In  the  courtyard  of  his  house  he  saw  two  little  puppies 
which  belonged  to  the  coachman  and  which  were  generally 
confined  to  the  stables.  They  were  playing  with  a  twist 
of  red  string  which  kept  catching  on  to  things,  to  the  rail- 
ings of  the  steps,  to  the  flower  vases.  In  the  end,  the 
paper  round  which  the  string  was  wound,  appeared.  Don 
Luis  happened  to  pass  at  that  moment.  His  eyes  noticed 
marks  of  writing  on  the  paper,  and  he  mechanically  picked 
it  up  and  unfolded  it. 

He  gave  a  start.  He  had  at  once  recognized  the  opening 
lines  of  the  article  printed  in  the  Echo  de  France,  And  the 
whole  article  was  there,  written  in  ink,  on  ruled  paper, 
with  erasures,  and  with  sentences  added,  struck  out,  and 
begun  anew. 

He  called  the  coachman  and  asked  him: 

"Where  does  this  ball  of  string  come  from?" 

"The  string,  sir?  Why,  from  the  harness-room,  I  think. 
It  must  have  been  that  little  she-devil  of  a  Mirza  who  — 

"And  when  did  you  wind  the  string  round  the  paper?" 

"Yesterday  evening,  Monsieur." 

"Yesterday  evening.  I  see.  And  where  is  the  paper 
from?" 

"Upon  my  word,  Monsieur,  I  can't  say.     I  wanted 


THE  IRON  CURTAIN  123 

something  to  wind  my  string  on.  I  picked  this  bit  up 
behind  the  coachhouse  where  they  fling  all  the  rubbish 
of  the  house  to  be  taken  into  the  street  at  night." 

Don  Luis  pursued  his  investigations.  He  questioned 
or  asked  Mile.  Levasseur  to  question  the  other  servants. 
He  discovered  nothing;  but  one  fact  remained:  the  article 
in  the  Echo  de  France  had  been  written,  as  the  rough  draft 
which  he  had  picked  up  proved,  by  somebody  who  lived 
in  the  house  or  who  was  in  touch  with  one  of  the  people 
in  the  house. 

The  enemy  was  inside  the  fortress. 

But  what  enemy?  And  what  did  he  want?  Merely 
Perenna's  arrest? 

All  the  remainder  of  the  afternoon  Don  Luis  continued 
anxious,  annoyed  by  the  mystery  that  surrounded  him, 
incensed  at  his  own  inaction,  and  especially  at  that 
threatened  arrest,  which  certainly  caused  him  no  uneasi- 
ness, but  which  hampered  his  movements. 

Accordingly,  when  he  was  told  at  about  ten  o'clock 
that  a  man  who  gave  the  name  of  Alexandre  insisted  on 
seeing  him,  he  had  the  man  shown  in;  and  when  he  found 
himself  face  to  face  with  Mazeroux,  but  Mazeroux  dis- 
guised beyond  recognition  and  huddled  in  an  old  cloak, 
he  flung  himself  on  him  as  on  a  prey,  hustling  and  shak- 
ing him. 

"So  it's  you,  at  last?"  he  cried.  "Well,  what  did  I 
tell  you?  You  can't  make  head  or  tail  of  things  at  the 
police  office  and  you've  come  for  me!  Confess  it,  you 
numskull !  You've  come  to  fetch  me !  Oh,  how  funny  it  all 
is !  Gad,  I  knew  that  you  would  never  have  the  cheek  to 
arrest  me,  and  that  the  Prefect  of  Police  would  manage 
to  calm  the  untimely  ardour  of  that  confounded  Weber! 


124  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

To  begin  with,  one  doesn't  arrest  a  man  whom  one  has 
need  of.  Come,  out  with  it!  Lord,  how  stupid  you  look! 
Why  don't  you  answer?  How  far  have  you  got  at  the 
office?  Quick,  speak!  I'll  settle  the  thing  in  five  seconds. 
Just  tell  me  about  your  inquiry  in  two  words,  and  I'll 
finish  it  for  you  in  the  twinkling  of  a  bed-post,  in  two 
minutes  by  my  watch.  Well,  you  were  saying  — 

"But,  Chief,"  spluttered Mazeroux,  utterly  nonplussed. 

"What!  Must  I  drag  the  words  out  of  you?  Come 
on!  I'll  make  a  start.  It  has  to  do  with  the  man  with 
the  ebony  walking-stick,  hasn't  it?  The  one  we  saw  at 
the  Cafe  du  Pont-Neuf  on  the  day  when  Inspector  Verot 
was  murdered?  " 

"Yes,  it  has." 

"Have  you  found  his  traces?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  come  along,  find  your  tongue!" 

"It's  like  this,  Chief.  Some  one  else  noticed  him  be- 
sides the  waiter.  There  was  another  customer  in  the 
cafe;  and  this  other  customer,  whom  I  ended  by  discover- 
ing, went  out  at  the  same  time  as  our  man  and  heard  him 
ask  somebody  in  the  street  which  was  the  nearest  under- 
ground station  for  Neuilly." 

"Capital,  that.  And,  in  Neuilly,  by  asking  questions 
on  every  side,  you  ferreted  him  out?" 

"And  even  learnt  his  name,  Chief:  Hubert  Lautier,  of 
the  Avenue  du  Roule.  Only  he  decamped  from  there 
six  months  ago,  leaving  his  furniture  behind  him  and 
taking  nothing  but  two  trunks." 

"What  about  the  post-office?" 

"We  have  been  to  the  post-office.  One  of  the  clerks 
recognized  the  description  which  we  supplied.  Our  man 


THE  IRON  CURTAIN  125 

calls  once  every  eight  or  ten  days  to  fetch  his  mail,  which 
never  amounts  to  much:  just  one  or  two  letters.  He  has 
not  been  there  for  some  time." 

"Is  the  correspondence  in  his  name?" 

"No,  initials." 

"Were  they  able  to  remember  them?" 

"Yes:B.  R.  W.  8." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"That  is  absolutely  all  that  I  have  discovered.  But 
one  of  my  fellow  officers  succeeded  in  proving,  from  the 
evidence  of  two  detectives,  that  a  man  carrying  a  silver- 
handled  ebony  walking-stick  and  a  pair  of  tortoise-shell 
glasses  walked  out  of  the  Gare  d'Auteuil  on  the  evening 
of  the  double  murder  and  went  toward  Renelagh.  Re- 
member the  presence  of  Mme.  Fauville  in  that  neighbour- 
hood at  the  same  hour.  And  remember  that  the  crime 
was  committed  round  about  midnight.  I  conclude  fror» 
this " 

"That  will  do;  be  off!" 

"But " 

"Get!" 

"Then  I  don't  see  you  again?" 

"Meet  me  in  half  an  hour  outside  our  man's  place." 

"What  man?" 

"Marie  Fauville's  accomplice." 

"But  you  don't  know  -    -" 

"The  address?  Why,  you  gave  it  to  me  yourself: 
Boulevard  Richard-Wallace,  No.  8.  Go !  And  don't  look 
such  a  fool." 

He  made  him  spin  round  on  his  heels,  took  him  by  the 
shoulders,  pushed  him  to  the  door,  and  handed  him  over, 
quite  flabbergasted,  to  a  footman. 


126  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

He  himself  went  out  a  few  minutes  later,  dragging  in 
his  wake  the  detectives  attached  to  his  person,  left  them 
posted  on  sentry  duty  outside  a  block  of  flats  with  a 
double  entrance,  and  took  a  motor  cab  to  Neuilly. 

He  went  along  the  Avenue  de  Madrid  on  foot  and  turned 
down  the  Boulevard  Richard- Wallace,  opposite  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne.  Mazeroux  was  waiting  for  him  in  front  of  a 
small  three-storied  house  standing  at  the  back  of  a  court- 
yard contained  within  the  very  high  walls  of  the  adjoin- 
ing property. 

"Is  this  number  eight?" 

"Yes,  Chief,  but  tell  me  how-    -" 

"One  moment,  old  chap;  give  me  time  to  recover  my 
breath." 

He  gave  two  or  three  great  gasps. 

"Lord,  how  good  it  is  to  be  up  and  doing!"  he  said. 
"Upon  my  word,  I  was  getting  rusty.  And  what  a  pleas- 
ure to  pursue  those  scoundrels!  So  you  want  me  to  tell 

you?" 

He  passed  his  arm  through  the  sergeant's. 

"Listen,  Alexandre,  and  profit  by  my  words.  Remem- 
ber this :  when  a  person  is  choosing  initials  for  his  address 
at  a  paste  restante  he  doesn't  pick  them  at  random,  but 
always  in  such  a  way  that  the  letters  convey  a  meaning 
to  the  person  corresponding  with  him,  a  meaning  which 
will  enable  that  other  person  easily  to  remember  the 
address." 

"And  in  this  case?" 

"In  this  case,  Mazeroux,  a  man  like  myself,  who  knows 
Neuilly  and  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Bois,  is  at  once 
struck  by  those  three  letters,  *B.  R.  W.'  and  especially  by 
the  *W.',  a  foreign  letter,  an  English  letter.  So  that  ip 


THE  IRON  CURTAIN  127 

my  mind's  eye,  instantly,  as  in  a  flash,  I  saw  the  three 
letters  in  their  logical  place  as  initials  at  the  head  of  the 
words  for  which  they  stand.  I  saw  the  '  B '  of  '  boulevard,' 
and  the  'R'  and  the  English  'W  of  Richard- Wallace. 
And  so  I  came  to  the  Boulevard  Richard-Wallace.  And 
that,  my  dear  sir,  explains  the  milk  in  the  cocoanut." 

Mazeroux  seemed  a  little  doubtful. 

"And  what  do  you  think,  Chief?" 

"I  think  nothing.  I  am  looking  about.  I  am  build- 
ing up  a  theory  on  the  first  basis  that  offers  a  probable 
theory.  And  I  say  to  myself  ...  I  say  to  myself 
.  .  .  I  say  to  myself,  Mazeroux,  that  this  is  a  devilish 

mysterious  little  hole  and  that  this  house Hush! 

Listen  - 

He  pushed  Mazeroui  into  a  dark  corner.  They  had 
heard  a  noise,  the  slamming  of  a  door. 

Footsteps  crossed  the  courtyard  in  front  of  the  house, 
The  lock  of  the  outer  gate  grated.  Some  one  appeared^ 
and  the  light  of  a  street  lamp  fell  full  on  his  face. 

"Dash  it  all,"  muttered  Mazeroux,  "it's  he!" 

"I  believe  you're  right." 

"It's  he,  Chief.  Look  at  the  black  stick  and  the  bright 
handle.  And  did  you  see  the  eyeglasses  —  and  the  beard? 
What  a  oner  you  are,  Chief!" 

"Calm  yourself  and  let's  go  after  him." 

The  man  had  crossed  the  Boulevard  Richard- Wallace 
and  was  turning  into  the  Boulevard  Maillot.  He  was 
walking  pretty  fast,  with  his  head  up,  gayly  twirling  his 
stick.  He  lit  a  cigarette. 

At  the  end  of  the  Boulevard  Maillot,  the  man  passed 
the  octroi  and  entered  Paris.  The  railway  station  of  the 
outer  circle  was  close  by.  He  went  to  it  and,  still  fol- 


128  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

lowed  by  the  others,  stepped  into  a  train  that  took  them 
to  Auteuil. 

"That's  funny,"  said  Mazeroux.  "He's  doing  exactly 
what  he  did  a  fortnight  ago.  This  is  where  he  was  seen." 

The  man  now  went  along  the  fortifications.  In  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  he  reached  the  Boulevard  Suchet 
and  almost  immediately  afterward  the  house  in  which 
M.  Fauville  and  his  son  had  been  murdered. 

He  climbed  the  fortifications  opposite  the  house  and 
stayed  there  for  some  minutes,  motionless,  with  his  face 
to  the  front  of  the  house.  Then  continuing  his  road  he 
went  to  La  Muette  and  plunged  into  the  dusk  of  the  Bois 
de  Boulogne. 

"To  work  and  boldly!"  said  Don  Luis,  quickening  his 
pace. 

Mazeroux  stopped  him. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Chief?" 

"Well,  catch  him  by  the  throat!  There  are  two  of  us; 
we  couldn't  hope  for  a  better  moment." 

"  What !     Why,  it's  impossible !" 

"Impossible?  Are  you  afraid?  Very  well,  I'll  do  it 
by  myself." 

"Look  here,  Chief,  you're  not  serious!" 

"Why  shouldn't  I  be  serious?" 

"Because  one  can't  arrest  a  man  without  a  reason." 

"Without  a  reason?  A  scoundrel  like  this?  A  mur- 
derer? What  more  do  you  want?" 

"In  the  absence  of  compulsion,  of  catching  him  in  the 
act,  I  want  something  that  I  haven't  got." 

"What's  that?" 

"A  warrant.    I  haven't  a  warrant." 

Mazeroux's  accent  was  so  full  of  conviction,  and  the 


THE  IRON  CURTAIN  129 

answer  struck  Don  Luis  Perenna  as  so  comical,  that  he 
burst  out  laughing. 

"You  have  no  warrant?  Poor  little  chap!  Well,  I'll 
soon  show  you  if  I  need  a  warrant!" 

"You'll  show  me  nothing,"  cried  Mazeroux,  hanging 
on  to  his  companion's  arm.  "  You  shan't  touch  the  man." 

"One  would  think  he  was  your  mother!" 

"Come,  Chief." 

"But,  you  stick-in-the-mud  of  an  honest  man,"  shouted 
Don  Luis,  angrily,  "if  we  let  this  opportunity  slip  shall  we 
ever  find  another?" 

"Easily.  He's  going  home.  I'll  inform  the  commis- 
sary of  police.  He  will  telephone  to  headquarters;  and 
to-morrow  morning " 

"And  suppose  the  bird  has  flown?" 

"I  have  no  warrant." 

"Do  you  want  me  to  sign  you  one,  idiot?" 

But  Don  Luis  mastered  his  rage.  He  felt  that  all  his 
arguments  would  be  shattered  to  pieces  against  the  ser- 
geant's obstinacy,  and  that,  if  necessary,  Mazeroux  would 
.go  to  the  length  of  defending  the  enemy  against  him. 
He  simply  said  in  a  sententious  tone: 

"One  ass  and  you  make  a  pair  of  asses;  and  there  are 
as  many  asses  as  there  are  people  who  try  to  do  police 
work  with  bits  of  paper,  signatures,  warrants,  and  other 
gammon.  Police  work,  my  lad,  is  done  with  one's  fists. 
When  you  come  upon  the  enemy,  hit  him.  Otherwise, 
you  stand  a  chance  of  hitting  the  air.  With  that,  good- 
night. I'm  going  to  bed.  Telephone  to  me  when  the 
job  is  done." 

He  went  home,  furious,  sick  of  an  adventure  in  which 
he  had  not  had  elbow  room,  and  in  which  he  had  had 


to  submit  to  the  will,  or,  rather,  to  the  weakness  of 
others. 

But  next  morning  when  he  woke  up  his  longing  to  see 
the  police  lay  hold  of  the  man  with  the  ebony  stick,  and 
especially  the  feeling  that  his  assistance  would  be  of  use, 
impelled  him  to  dress  as  quickly  as  he  could. 

"If  I  don't  come  to  the  rescue,"  he  thought,  "they'll 
let  themselves  be  done  in  the  eye.  They're  not  equal  to 
a  contest  of  this  kind." 

Just  then  Mazeroux  rang  up  and  asked  to  speak  to 
him.  He  rushed  to  a  little  telephone  box  which  his  prede- 
cessor had  fitted  up  on  the  first  floor,  in  a  dark  recess 
that  communicated  only  with  his  study,  and  switched 
on  the  electric  light. 

"Is  that  you,  Alexandre?" 

"Yes,  Chief.  I'm  speaking  from  a  wine  shop  near  the 
house  on  the  Boulevard  Richard- Wallace." 

"What  about  our  man?" 

"The  bird's  still  in  the  nest.  But  we're  only  Justin  time." 

"Really?" 

"  Yes,  he's  packed  his  trunk.  He's  going  away  this  mor- 
ning." 

"How  do  they  know?" 

"Through  the  woman  who  manages  for  him.  She's 
just  come  to  the  house  and  will  let  us  in." 

"Does  he  live  alone?" 

"Yes,  the  woman  cooks  his  meals  and  goes  away  in 
the  evening.  No  one  ever  calls  except  a  veiled  lady  who 
has  paid  him  three  visits  since  he's  been  here.  The 
housekeeper  was  not  able  to  see  what  she  was  like.  As 
for  him,  she  says  he's  a  scholar,  who  spends  his  time  read- 
ing and  working." 


THE  IRON  CURTAIN  131 

"And  have  you  a  warrant?" 

"Yes,  we're  going  to  use  it." 

"I'll  come  at  once." 

"You  can't!  We've  got  Weber  at  our  head.  Oh,  by 
the  way,  have  you  heard  the  news  about  Mme.  Fau- 
ville?" 

"About  Mme.  Fauville?" 

"Yes,  she  tried  to  commit  suicide  last  night." 

"What!     Tried  to  commit  suicide!" 

Perenna  had  uttered  an  exclamation  of  astonishment 
and  was  very  much  surprised  to  hear,  almost  at  the  same 
time,  another  cry,  like  an  echo,  at  his  elbow.  Without 
letting  go  the  receiver,  he  turned  round  and  saw  that 
Mile.  Levasseur  was  in  the  study  a  few  yards  away  from 
him,  standing  with  a  distorted  and  livid  face.  Then? 
eyes  met.  He  was  on  the  point  of  speaking  to  her,  but 
she  moved  away,  without  leaving  the  room,  however. 

"What  the  devil  was  she  listening  for?"  Don  Luis  won- 
dered. "And  why  that  look  of  dismay?" 

Meanwhile,  Mazeroux  continued: 

"She  said,  you  know,  that  she  would  try  to  kill  her- 
self. But  it  must  have  taken  a  goodish  amount  of  pluck." 

"But  how  did  she  do  it?"  Perenna  asked. 

"  I'll  tell  you  another  time.  They're  calling  me.  What- 
ever you  do,  Chief,  don't  come." 

"Yes,"  he  replied,  firmly,  "I'm  coming.  After  all, 
the  least  I  can  do  is  to  be  in  at  the  death,  seeing  that  it 
was  I  who  found  the  scent.  But  don't  be  afraid.  I  shall 
keep  in  the  background." 

"Then  hurry,  Chief.  We're  delivering  the  attack  in  ten 
minutes." 

"I'll  be  with  you  before  that." 


132  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

He  quickly  hung  up  the  receiver  and  turned  on  his 
heel  to  leave  the  telephone  box.  The  next  moment  he 
had  flung  himself  against  the  farther  wall.  Just  as  he 
was  about  to  pass  out  he  had  heard  something  click 
above  his  head  and  he  but  barely  had  the  time  to  leap 
back  and  escape  being  struck  by  an  iron  curtain  which 
fell  in  front  of  him  with  a  terrible  thud. 

Another  second  and  the  huge  mass  would  have  crushed 
him.  He  could  feel  it  whizzing  by  his  head.  And  he 
had  never  before  experienced  the  anguish  of  danger  so 
intensely. 

After  a  moment  of  genuine  fright,  in  which  he  stood  as 
though  petrified,  with  his  brain  in  a  whirl,  he  recovered 
his  coolness  and  threw  himself  upon  the  obstacle.  But 
it  at  once  appeared  to  him  that  the  obstacle  was  unsur- 
mountable. 

It  was  a  heavy  metal  panel,  not  made  of  plates  or 
lathes  fastened  one  to  the  other,  but  formed  of  a  solid 
slab,  massive,  firm,  and  strong,  and  covered  with  the 
sheen  of  time  darkened  here  and  there  with  patches  of 
rust.  On  either  side  and  at  the  top  and  bottom  the  edges 
of  the  panel  fitted  in  a  narrow  groove  which  covered  them 
hermetically. 

He  was  a  prisoner.  In  a  sudden  fit  of  rage  he  banged  at 
the  metal  with  his  fists.  He  remembered  that  Mile. 
Levasseur  was  in  the  study.  If  she  had  not  yet  left  the 
room  —  and  surely  she  could  not  have  left  it  when  the 
thing  happened  —  she  would  hear  the  noise.  She  was 
bound  to  hear  it.  She  would  be  sure  to  come  back,  give 
the  alarm,  and  rescue  him. 

He  listened.  He  shouted.  No  reply.  His  voice  died 
away  against  the  walls  and  ceiling  of  the  box  in  which  he 


THE  IRON  CURTAIN  133 

was  shut  up,  and  he  felt  that  the  whole  house  —  drawing- 
rooms,  staircases,  and  passages  —  remained  deaf  to  his 
appeal. 

And  yet  .     .     .  and  yet    .     .     .  Mile.  Levasseur 

"What  does  it  mean?"  he  muttered.  "What  can  it 
all  mean?" 

And  motionless  now  and  silent,  he  thought  once  more 
of  the  girl's  strange  attitude,  of  her  distraught  face,  of 
her  haggard  eyes.  And  he  also  began  to  wonder  what 
accident  had  released  the  mechanism  which  had  hurled 
the  formidable  iron  curtain  upon  him,  craftily  and  ruth- 
lessly. 


CHAPTER  SIX 

THE   MAN   WITH    THE   EBONY   WALKING-STICK 

A  GROUP  consisting  of  Deputy  Chief  Detective 
Weber,  Chief  Inspector  Ancenis,  Sergeant  Maze- 
roux,  three  inspectors,  and  the  Neuilly  commis- 
sary of  police  stood  outside  the  gate  of  No.  8  Boulevard 
Richard- Wallace. 

Mazeroux  was  watching  the  Avenue  de  Madrid,  by 
which  Don  Luis  would  have  to  come,  and  began  to  won- 
der what  had  happened;  for  half  an  hour  had  passed  since 
they  telephoned  to  each  other,  and  Mazeroux  could  find 
no  further  pretext  for  delaying  the  work. 

"It's  time  to  make  a  move,"  said  Weber.  "The 
housekeeper  is  making  signals  to  us  from  the  window:  the 
joker's  dressing." 

"Why  not  nab  him  when  he  comes  out?"  objected 
Mazeroux.  "We  shall  capture  him  in  a  moment." 

"And  if  he  cuts  off  by  another  outlet  which  we  don't 
know  of?"  said  the  deputy  chief.  "You  have  to  be 
careful  with  these  beggars.  No,  let's  beard  him  in  his 
den.  It's  more  certain." 

"Still  — 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Mazeroux?"  asked  the 
deputy  chief,  taking  him  on  one  side.  "Don't  you  see 
that  our  men  are  getting  restive?  They're  afraid  of  this 
sportsman.  There's  only  one  way,  which  is  to  set  them 

134 


THE  EBONY  WALKING-STICK  135 

on  him  as  if  he  were  a  wild  beast.  Besides,  the  business 
must  be  finished  by  the  time  the  Prefect  comes." 

"Is  he  coming?" 

"Yes.  He  wants  to  see  things  for  himself.  The  whole 
affair  interests  him  enormously.  So,  forward!  Are  you 
ready,  men?  I'm  going  to  ring." 

The  bell  sounded;  and  the  housekeeper  at  once  came 
and  half  opened  the  gate. 

Although  the  orders  were  to  observe  great  quiet,  so  as 
not  to  alarm  the  enemy  too  soon,  the  fear  which  he  in- 
spired was  so  intense  that  there  was  a  general  rush;  and 
all  the  detectives  crowded  into  the  courtyard,  ready  for 
the  fight.  But  a  window  opened  and  some  one  cried 
from  the  second  floor: 

"What's  happening?" 

The  deputy  chief  did  not  reply.  Two  detectives,  the 
chief  inspector,  the  commissary,  and  himself  entered  the 
house,  while  the  others  remained  in  the  courtyard  and 
made  any  attempt  at  flight  impossible. 

The  meeting  took  place  on  the  first  floor.  The  man 
had  come  down,  fully  dressed,  with  his  hat  on  his  head;  and 
the  deputy  chief  roared: 

"Stop!     Hands  up!     Are  you  Hubert  Lautier?" 

The  man  seemed  disconcerted.  Five  revolvers  were 
levelled  at  him.  And  yet  no  sign  of  fear  showed  in  his 
face;  and  he  simply  said: 

"  What  do  you  want,  Monsieur?  What  are  youhere  for?  " 

"We  are  here  in  the  name  of  the  law,  with  a  warrant 
for  your  arrest." 

"A  warrant  for  my  arrest?" 

"A  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  Hubert  Lautier,  residing 
at  8  Boulevard  Richard- Wallace." 


136  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"But  it's  absurd!"  said  the  man.  "It's  incredible! 
What  does  it  mean?  What  for?" 

They  took  him  by  both  arms,  without  his  offering  the 
least  resistance,  pushed  him  into  a  fairly  large  room  con- 
taining no  furniture  but  three  rush-bottomed  chairs,  an 
armchair,  and  a  table  covered  with  big  books. 

"There,"  said  the  deputy  chief.  "Don't  stir.  If  you 
attempt  to  move,  so  much  the  worse  for  you." 

The  man  made  n6  protest.  While  the  two  detectives 
held  him  by  the  collar,  he  seemed  to  be  reflecting,  as 
though  he  were  trying  to  understand  the  secret  causes 
of  an  arrest  for  which  he  was  totally  unprepared.  He 
had  an  intelligent  face,  a  reddish-brown  beard,  and  a  pair 
of  blue-gray  eyes  which  now  and  again  showed  a  certain 
hardness  of  expression  behind  his  glasses.  His  broad 
shoulders  and  powerful  neck  pointed  to  physical  strength. 

"Shall  we  tie  his  wrists?"  Mazeroux  asked  the  deputy 
chief. 

"One  second.  The  Prefect's  coming;  I  can  hear  him. 
Have  you  searched  the  man's  pockets?  Any  weapons?" 

"No." 

"No  flask,  no  phial?    Nothing  suspicious?" 

"No,  nothing." 

M.  Desmalions  arrived  and,  while  watching  the  pris- 
oner's face,  talked  in  a  low  voice  with  the  deputy  chief 
and  received  the  particulars  of  the  arrest. 

"This  is  good  business,"  he  said.  "We  wanted  this. 
Now  that  both  accomplices  are  in  custody,  they  will 
have  to  speak;  and  everything  will  be  cleared  up.  So 
there  was  no  resistance?" 

"None  at  all,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"No  matter,  we  will  remain  on  our  guard." 


THE  EBONY  WALKING-STICK  137 

The  prisoner  had  not  uttered  a  word,  but  still  wore  a 
thoughtful  look,  as  though  trying  to  understand  the  in- 
explicable events  of  the  last  few  minutes.  Nevertheless, 
when  he  realized  that  the  newcomer  was  none  other  than 
the  Prefect  of  Police,  he  raised  his  head  and  looked  at 
M.  Desmalions,  who  asked  him: 

"It  is  unnecessary  to  tell  you  the  cause  of  your  arrest, 
I  presume?" 

He  replied,  in  a  deferential  tone: 

"Excuse  me,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  but  I  must  ask  you, 
on  the  contrary,  to  inform  me.  I  have  not  the  least  idea 
of  the  reason.  Your  detectives  have  made  a  grave  mis- 
take which  a  word,  no  doubt,  will  be  enough  to  set  right. 
That  word  I  wish  for,  I  insist  upon " 

The  Prefect  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  said: 

"You  are  suspected  of  taking  part  in  the  murder  of 
Fauville,  the  civil  engineer,  and  his  son  Edmond.'* 

"Is  Hippolyte  dead?" 

The  cry  was  spontaneous,  almost  unconscious;  a  be- 
wildered cry  of  dismay  from  a  man  moved  to  the  depths 
of  his  being.  And  his  dismay  was  supremely  strange, 
his  question,  trying  to  make  them  believe  in  his  ignorance, 
supremely  unexpected. 

"Is  Hippolyte  dead?" 

He  repeated  the  question  in  a  hoarse  voice,  trembling 
all  over  as  he  spoke. 

"Is  Hippolyte  dead?  What  are  you  saying?  Is  it 
.possible  that  he  can  be  dead?  And  how?  Murdered? 
Edmond,  too?" 

The  Prefect  once  more  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"The  mere  fact  of  your  calling  M.  Fauville  by  his 
Christian  name  shows  that  you  knew  him  intimately. 


138  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

And,  even  if  you  were  not  concerned  in  his  murder,  it 
has  been  mentioned  often  enough  in  the  newspapers  during 
the  last  fortnight  for  you  to  know  of  it." 

"I  never  read  a  newspaper,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"What!     You  mean  to  tell  me ?" 

"It  may  sound  improbable,  but  it  is  quite  true.  I 
lead  an  industrious  life,  occupying  myself  solely  with 
scientific  research,  in  view  of  a  popular  work  which  I  am 
preparing,  and  I  do  not  take  the  least  part  or  the  least 
interest  in  outside  things.  I  defy  any  one  to  prove  that 
I  have  read  a  newspaper  for  months  and  months  past. 
And  that  is  why  I  am  entitled  to  say  that  I  did  not  know 
of  Hippolyte  Fauville's  murder." 

"Still,  you  knew  M.  Fauville." 

"I  used  to  know  him,  but  we  quarrelled.'* 

"For  what  reason?" 

"Family  affairs." 

"Family  affairs!     Were  you  related,  then?" 

"Yes.     Hippolyte  was  my  cousin." 

"Your  cousin!  M.  Fauville  was  your  cousin!  But 
,  .  .  but  then  .  .  .  Come,  let  us  have  the  rights 
of  the  matter.  M.  Fauville  and  his  wife  were  the  children 
of  two  sisters,  Elizabeth  and  Armande  Roussel.  Those 
two  sisters  had  been  brought  up  with  a  first  cousin  called 
Victor." 

"Yes,  Victor  Sauverand,  whose  grandfather  was  a  Rous- 
sel. Victor  Sauverand  married  abroad  and  had  two  sons. 
One  of  them  died  fifteen  years  ago;  the  other  is  myself." 

M.  Desmalions  gave  a  start.  His  excitement  was  mani- 
fest. If  that  man  was  telling  the  truth,  if  he  was  really 
the  son  of  that  Victor  whose  record  the  police  had  not 
vet  been  able  to  trace,  then,  owing  to  this  very 


THE  EBONY  WALKING-STICK  130 

since  M.  Fauville  and  his  son  were  dead  and  Mme. 
Fauville,  so  to  speak,  convicted  of  murder  and  forfeiting 
her  rights,  they  had  arrested  the  final  heir  to  Cosmo 
Mornington.  But  why,  in  a  moment  of  madness,  had 
he  voluntarily  brought  this  crushing  indictment  against 
himself? 

He  continued : 

"My  statements  seem  to  surprise  you,  Monsieur  le 
Prefet.  Perhaps  they  throw  a  light  on  the  mistake  of 
which  I  am  a  victim?" 

He  expressed  himself  calmly,  with  great  politeness  and 
in  a  remarkably  well-bred  voice;  and  he  did  not  for  a 
moment  seem  to  suspect  that  his  revelations,  on  the  con- 
trary, were  justifying  the  measures  taken  against  him. 

Without  replying  to  the  question,  the  Prefect  of  Police 
asked  him: 

"So  your  real  name  is " 

"Gaston  Sauverand." 

"Why  do  you  call  yourself  Hubert  Lautier?" 

The  man  had  a  second  of  indecision  which  did  not 
escape  so  clear-sighted  an  observer  as  M.  Desmalions. 
He  swayed  from  side  to  side,  his  eyes  flickered  and  he 
said: 

"That  does  not  concern  the  police;  it  concerns  no  one 
but  myself." 

M.  Desmalions  smiled: 

"That  is  a  poor  argument.  Will  you  use  the  same 
when  I  ask  you  why  you  live  in  hiding,  why  you  left  the 
Avenue  du  Roule,  where  you  used  to  live,  without  leaving 
an  address  behind  you,  and  why  you  receive  your  letters 
at  the  post-office  under  initials?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  those  are  matters  of  a  private 


140  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

character,  which  affect  only  my  conscience.  You  have 
no  right  to  question  me  about  them." 

"That  is  the  exact  reply  which  we  are  constantly  re- 
ceiving at  every  moment  from  your  accomplice." 

"My  accomplice?" 

"Yes,  Mme.  Fauville." 

"Mme.Fauville!" 

Gaston  Sauverand  had  uttered  the  same  cry  as  when 
he  heard  of  the  death  of  the  engineer;  and  his  stupefaction 
seemed  even  greater,  combined  as  it  was  with  an  anguish 
that  distorted  his  features  beyond  recognition. 

"Whatr>  .  .  .  What?  .  .  .  What  do  you  say? 
Marie!  .  .  .  No,  you  don't  mean  it!  It's  not 
true!" 

M.  Desmalions  considered  it  useless  to  reply,  so  absurd 
and  childish  was  this  affectation  of  knowing  nothing  about 
the  tragedy  on  the  Boulevard  Suchet. 

Gaston  Sauverand,  beside  himself,  with  his  eyes  start- 
ing from  his  head,  muttered: 

"Is  it  true?  Is  Marie  the  victim  of  the  same  mistake 
as  myself?  Perhaps  they  have  arrested  her?  She,  she  in 
prison!" 

He  raised  his  clenched  fists  in  a  threatening  manner 
against  all  the  unknown  enemies  by  whom  he  was  sur- 
rounded, against  those  who  were  persecuting  him,  those 
who  had  murdered  Hippolyte  Fauville  and  delivered 
Marie  Fauville  to  the  police. 

Mazeroux  and  Chief  Inspector  Ancenis  took  hold  of 
him  roughly.  He  made  a  movement  of  resistance,  as 
though  he  intended  to  thrust  back  his  aggressors.  But 
it  was  only  momentary;  and  he  sank  into  a  chair  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands: 


THE  EBONY  WALKING-STICK  141 

"What  a  mystery!"  he  stammered.  "I  don't  under- 
stand !  I  don't  understand  - 

Weber,  who  had  gone  out  a  few  minutes  before,  returned. 
M.  Desmalions  asked: 

"Is  everything  ready?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  I  have  had  the  taxi  brought 
up  to  the  gate  beside  your  car." 

"How  many  of  you  are  there?" 

"Eight.  Two  detectives  have  just  arrived  from  the 
commissary's." 

"Have  you  searched  the  house?" 

"Yes.  It's  almost  empty,  however.  There's  nothing 
but  the  indispensable  articles  of  furniture  and  some  bun- 
dles of  papers  in  the  bedroom." 

"Very  well.  Take  him  away  and  keep  a  sharp  lookout." 

Gaston  Sauverand  walked  off  quietly  between  the  dep- 
uty chief  and  Mazeroux.  He  turned  round  in  the  door- 
way. 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  as  you  are  making  a  search,  I 
entreat  you  to  take  care  of  the  papers  on  the  table  in 
my  bedroom.  They  are  notes  that  have  cost  me  a  great 
deal  of  labour  in  the  small  hours  of  the  night.  Also " 

He  hesitated,  obviously  embarrassed. 

"Well?" 

"Well,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  I  must  tell  you  —  some- 
thing- 
He  was  looking  for  his  words  and  seemed  to  fear  the 
consequences  of  them  at  the  same  time  that  he  uttered 
them.  But  he  suddenly  made  up  his  mind. 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  there  is  in  this  house  —  some- 
where —  a  packet  of  letters  which  I  value  more  than  my 
life.  It  is  possible  that  those  letters,  if  misinterpreted, 


142  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

will  furnish  a  weapon  against  me;  but  no  matter.  The 
great  thing  is  that  they  should  be  safe.  You  will  see. 
They  include  documents  of  extreme  importance.  I  en- 
trust them  to  your  keeping  —  to  yours  alone,  Monsieur 
le  Prefet." 

"Where  are  they?" 

"The  hiding-place  is  easily  found.  All  you  have  to 
do  is  to  go  to  the  garret  above  my  bedroom  and  press 
on  a  nail  to  the  right  of  the  window.  It  is  an  apparently 
useless  nail,  but  it  controls  a  hiding-place  outside,  under 
the  slates  of  the  roof,  along  the  gutter." 

He  moved  away  between  the  two  men.  The  Prefect 
called  them  back. 

"  One  second.  Mazeroux,  go  up  to  the  garret  and  bring 
me  the  letters." 

Mazeroux  went  out  and  returned  in  a  few  minutes. 
He  had  been  unable  to  work  the  spring. 

The  Prefect  orderecF~Chief  Inspector  Ancenis  to  go  up 
with  Mazeroux  and  to  take  the  prisoner,  who  would  show 
them  how  to  open  the  hiding-place.  He  himself  remained 
in  the  room  with  Weber,  awaiting  the  result  of  the  search, 
and  began  to  read  the  titles  of  the  volumes  piled  upon  the 
table. 

They  were  scientific  books,  among  which  he  noticed 
works  on  chemistry:  "Organic  Chemistry"  and  "Chem- 
istry Considered  in  Its  Relations  with  Electricity."  They 
were  all  covered  with  notes  in  the  margins.  He  was  turn- 
ing over  the  pages  of  one  of  them,  when  he  seemed  to  hear 
shouts. 

The  Prefect  rushed  to  the  door,  but  had  not  crossed 
the  threshold  when  a  pistol  shot  echoed  down  the  stair- 
case and  there  was  a  yell  of  pain. 


THE  EBONY  WALKING-STICK  143 

Immediately  after  came  two  more  shots,  accompanied 
by  cries,  the  sound  of  a  struggle,  and  yet  another  shot. 

Tearing  upstairs,  four  steps  at  a  time,  with  an  agility 
not  to  be  expected  from  a  man  of  his  build,  the  Pre- 
fect of  Police,  followed  by  the  deputy  chief,  covered 
the  second  flight  and  came  to  a  third,  which  was  narrower 
and  steeper.  When  he  reached  the  bend,  a  man's  body, 
staggering  above  him,  fell  into  his  arms :  it  was  Mazeroux, 
wounded. 

On  the  stairs  lay  another  body,  lifeless,  that  of  Chief 
Inspector  Ancenis. 

Above  them,  in  the  frame  of  a  small  doorway,  stood 
Gaston  Sauverand,  with  a  savage  look  on  his  face  and 
his  arm  outstretched.  He  fired  a  fifth  shot  at  random. 
Then,  seeing  the  Prefect  of  Police,  he  took  deliberate 
aim. 

The  Prefect  stared  at  that  terrifying  barrel  levelled  at 
his  face  and  gave  himself  up  for  lost.  But,  at  that  exact 
second,  a  shot  was  discharged  from  behind  him,  Sauve- 
rand's  weapon  fell  from  his  hand  before  he  was  able  to 
fire,  and  the  Prefect  saw,  as  in  a  dream,  a  man,  the  man 
who  had  saved  his  life,  striding  across  the  chief  inspector's 
body,  propping  Mazeroux  against  the  wall,  and  darting 
ahead,  followed  by  the  detectives.  He  recognized  the 
man :  it  was  Don  Luis  Perenna. 

Don  Luis  stepped  briskly  into  the  garret  where  Sauve- 
rand had  retreated,  but  had  time  only  to  catch  sight  of 
him  standing  on  the  window  ledge  and  leaping  into  space 
from  the  third  floor. 

"Has  he  jumped  from  there?"  cried  the  Prefect,  has- 
tening up.  "We  shall  never  capture  him  alive!" 

"Neither  alive  nor  dead,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.     See,  he's 


144  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

picking  himself  up.  There's  a  providence  which  looks 
after  that  sort.  He's  making  for  the  gate.  He's  hardly 
limping." 

"But  where  are  my  men?" 

"Why,  they're  all  on  the  staircase,  in  the  house, 
brought  here  by  the  shots,  seeing  to  the  wounded  - 

"Oh,  the  demon!"  muttered  the  Prefect.  "He's 
played  a  masterly  game!" 

Gaston  Sauverand,  in  fact,  was  escaping  unmolested. 

"Stop  him!     Stop  him!"  roared  M.  Desmalions. 

There  were  two  motors  standing  beside  the  pavement, 
which  is  very  wide  at  this  spot:  the  Prefect's  own  car, 
and  the  cab  which  the  deputy  chief  had  provided  for  the 
prisoner.  The  two  chauffeurs,  sitting  on  their  seats, 
had  noticed  nothing  of  the  fight.  But  they  saw  Gaston 
Sauverand's  leap  into  space;  and  the  Prefect's  chauffeur, 
on  whose  seat  a  certain  number  of  incriminating  articles 
had  been  placed,  taking  out  of  the  heap  the  first  weapon 
that  offered,  the  ebony  walking-stick,  bravely  rushed  at 
the  fugitive. 

"Stop  him!     Stop  him! "shouted  M.  Desmalions. 

The  encounter  took  place  at  the  exit  from  the  court- 
yard. It  did  not  last  long.  Sauverand  flung  himself 
upon  his  assailant,  snatched  the  stick  from  him,  and 
broke  it  across  his  face.  Then,  without  dropping  the 
handle,  he  ran  away,  pursued  by  the  other  chauffeur 
and  by  three  detectives  who  at  last  appeared  from  the 
house.  He  had  thirty  yards'  start  of  the  detectives,  one 
of  whom  fired  several  shots  at  him  without  effect. 

When  M.  Desmalions  and  Weber  went  downstairs 
again,  they  found  the  chief  inspector  lying  on  the  bed  in 
Gaston  Sauverand's  room  on  the  second  floor,  gray  in  the 


THE  EBONY  WALKING-STICK  145 

face.  He  had  been  hit  on  the  head  and  was  dying.  A 
few  minutes  later  he  was  dead. 

Sergeant  Mazeroux,  whose  wound  was  only  slight,  said, 
while  it  was  being  dressed,  that  Sauverand  had  taken 
the  chief  inspector  and  himself  up  to  the  garret,  and  that, 
outside  the  door,  he  had  dipped  his  hand  quickly  into 
an  old  satchel  hanging  on  the  wall  among  some  servants' 
wornout  aprons  and  jackets.  He  drew  out  a  revolver 
and  fired  point-blank  at  the  chief  inspector,  who  dropped 
like  a  log.  When  seized  by  Mazeroux,  the  murderer  re- 
leased himself  and  fired  three  bullets,  the  third  of  which 
hit  the  sergeant  in  the  shoulder. 

And  so,  in  a  fight  in  which  the  police  had  a  band  of 
experienced  detectives  at  their  disposal,  while  the  enemy, 
a  prisoner,  seemed  to  possess  not  the  remotest  chance  of 
safety,  this  enemy,  by  a  strategem  of  unprecedented  dar- 
ing, had  led  two  of  his  adversaries  aside,  disabled  both 
of  them,  drawn  the  others  into  the  house  and,  finding  the 
coast  clear,  escaped. 

M.  Desmalions  was  white  with  anger  and  despair.  He 
exclaimed: 

"He's  tricked  us!  His  letters,  his  hiding-place,  the 
movable  nail,  were  all  shams.  Oh,  the  scoundrel!" 

He  went  down  to  the  ground  floor  and  into  the  court- 
yard. On  the  boulevard  he  met  one  of  the  detectives 
who  had  given  chase  to  the  murderer  and  who  was  re- 
turning quite  out  of  breath. 

"Well?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  he  turned  down  the  first  street, 
where  there  was  a  motor  waiting  for  him.  The  engine 
must  have  been  working,  for  our  man  outdistanced  us 
at  once." 


146  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"But  what  about  my  car?" 

"You  see,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  by  the  time  it  was 
started  

"Was  the  motor  that  picked  him  up  a  hired  one?" 

"Yes,  a  taxi." 

"Then  we  shall  find  it.  The  driver  will  come  of  his 
own  accord  when  he  has  seen  the  newspapers." 

Weber  shook  his  head. 

"Unless  the  driver  is  himself  a  confederate,  Monsieur  le 
Prefet.  Besides,  even  if  we  find  the  cab,  aren't  we  bound  to 
suppose  that  Gaston  Sauverand  will  know  how  to  front  the 
scent?  We  shall  have  trouble,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"Yes,"  whispered  Don  Luis,  who  had  been  present 
at  the  first  investigation  and  who  was  left  alone  for  a 
moment  with  Mazeroux.  "Yes,  you  will  have  trouble, 
especially  if  you  let  the  people  you  capture  take  to  their 
heels.  Eh,  Mazeroux,  what  did  I  tell  you  last  night? 
But,  still,  what  a  scoundrel!  And  he's  not  alone,  Alex- 
andre.  I'll  answer  for  it  that  he  has  accomplices  — 
and  not  a  hundred  yards  from  my  house  —  do  you  under- 
stand? From  my  house." 

After  questioning  Mazeroux  upon  Sauverand's  attitude 
and  the  other  incidents  of  the  arrest,  Don  Luis  went  back 
to  the  Place  du  Palais-Bourbon. 

The  inquiry  which  he  had  to  make  related  to  events 
that  were  certainly  quite  as  strange  as  those  which  he 
had  just  witnessed;  and  while  the  part  played  by  Gaston 
Sauverand  in  the  pursuit  of  the  Mornington  inheritance 
deserved  all  his  attention,  the  behaviour  of  Mile.  Levas- 
seur  puzzled  him  no  less. 

He  could  not  forget  the  cry  of  terror  that  escaped  the 


THE  EBONY  WALKING-STICK  147 

girl  while  he  was  telephoning  to  Mazeroux,  nor  the  scared 
expression  of  her  face.  Now  it  was  impossible  to  attribute 
that  cry  and  that  expression  to  anything  other  than  the 
words  which  he  had  uttered  in  reply  to  Mazeroux: 

"What!     Mme.  Fauville  tried  to  commit  suicide!" 

The  fact  was  certain;  and  the  connection  between  the 
announcement  of  the  attempt  and  Mile.  Levasseur's  ex- 
treme emotion  was  too  obvious  for  Perenna  not  to  try 
to  draw  conclusions. 

He  went  straight  to  his  study  and  at  once  examined 
the  arch  leading  to  the  telephone  box.  This  arch,  which 
was  about  six  feet  wide  and  very  low,  had  no  door,  but 
merely  a  velvet  hanging,  which-  was  nearly  always  drawn 
up,  leaving  the  arch  uncovered.  Under  the  hanging,  among 
the  moldings  of  the  cornice,  was  a  button  that  had  only 
to  be  pressed  to  bring  down  the  iron  curtain  against 
which  he  had  thrown  himself  two  hours  before. 

He  worked  the  catch  two  or  three  times  over,  and  his 
experiments  proved  to  him  in  the  most  explicit  fashion 
that  the  mechanism  was  in  perfect  order  and  unable  to 
act  without  outside  intervention.  Was  he  then  to  con- 
clude that  the  girl  had  wanted  to  kill  him?  But  what 
could  be  her  motive? 

He  was  on  the  point  of  ringing  and  sending  for  her,  so 
as  to  receive  the  explanation  which  he  was  resolved  to 
demand  from  her.  However,  the  minutes  passed  and  he  did 
not  ring.  He  saw  her  through  the  window  as  she  walked 
slowly  across  the  yard,  her  body  swinging  gracefully  from 
her  hips.  A  ray  of  sunshine  lit  up  the  gold  of  her  hair. 

All  the  rest  of  the  morning  he  lay  on  a  sofa,  smoking 
cigars.  He  was  ill  at  ease,  dissatisfied  with  himself  and 
with  the  course  of  events,  not  one  of  which  brought  him 


148  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

the  least  glimmer  of  truth;  in  fact,  all  of  them  seemed 
to  deepen  the  darkness  in  which  he  was  battling.  Eager 
to  act,  the  moment  he  did  so  he  encountered  fresh  ob- 
stacles that  paralyzed  his  powers  of  action  and  left  him 
in  utter  ignorance  of  the  nature  of  his  adversaries. 

But,  at  twelve  o'clock,  just  as  he  had  rung  for  lunch, 
his  butler  entered  the  study  with  a  tray  in  his  hand, 
and  exclaimed,  with  an  agitation  which  showed  that  the 
household  was  aware  of  Don  Luis's  ambiguous  position : 

"Sir,  it's  the  Prefect  of  Police!" 

"Eh?"  said  Perenna.     "Where  is  he?" 

"Downstairs,  sir.  I  did  not  know  what  to  do,  at 
first  .  .  .  and  I  thought  of  telling  Mile.  Levasseur. 
But- 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Here  is  his  card,  sir." 

Perenna  took  the  card  from  the  tray  and  read  M.  Des- 
malions's  name.  He  went  to  the  window,  opened  it  and, 
with  the  aid  of  the  overhead  mirror,  looked  into  the  Place 
du  Palais-Bourbon.  Half  a  dozen  men  were  walking 
about.  He  recognized  them.  They  were  his  usual 
watchers,  those  whom  he  had  got  rid  of  on  the  evening 
before  and  who  had  come  to  resume  their  observation. 

"No  others?"  he  said  to  himself.  "Come,  we  have 
nothing  to  fear,  and  the  Prefect  of  Police  has  none  but 
the  best  intentions  toward  me.  It  was  what  I  expected; 
and  I  think  that  I  was  well  advised  to* save  his  life." 

M.  Desmalions  entered  without  a  word.  All  that  he 
did  was  to  bend  his  head  slightly,  with  a  movement  that 
might  be  taken  for  a  bow.  As  for  Weber,  who  was  with 
him,  he  did  not  even  give  himself  the  trouble  to  disguise 
his  feelings  toward  such  a  man  as  Perenna. 


THE  EBONY  WALKING-STICK  149 

Don  Luis  took  no  direct  notice  of  this  attitude,  but, 
in  revenge,  ostentatiously  omitted  to  push  forward  more 
than  one  chair.  M.  Desmalions,  however,  preferred  to 
walk  about  the  room,  with  his  hands  behind  his  back,  as 
if  to  continue  his  reflections  before  speaking. 

The  silence  was  prolonged.  Don  Luis  waited  patiently. 
Then,  suddenly,  the  Prefect  stopped  and  said : 

"When  you  left  the  Boulevard  Richard-Wallace,  Mon- 
sieur, did  you  go  straight  home?" 

Don  Luis  did  not  demur  to  this  cross-examining  manner 
and  answered: 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"Here,  to  your  study?" 

"Here,  to  my  study." 

M.  Desmalions  paused  and  then  went  on: 

"I  left  thirty  or  forty  minutes  after  you  and  drove 
to  the  police  office  in  my  car.  There  I  received  this 
express  letter.  Read  it.  You  will  see  that  it  was  handed 
in  at  the  Bourse  at  half-past  nine." 

Don  Luis  took  the  letter  and  read  the  following  words, 
written  in  capital  letters: 

This  is  to  inform  you  that  Gaston  Sauverand,  after  making 
his  escape,  rejoined  his  accomplice  Perenna,  who,  as  you  know, 
is  none  other  than  Arsene  Lupin.  Arsene  Lupin  gave  you 
Sauverand's  address  in  order  to  get  rid  of  him  and  to  receive 
the  Mornington  inheritance.  They  were  reconciled  this 
morning,  and  Arsene  Lupin  suggested  a  safe  hiding-place  to 
Sauverand.  It  is  easy  to  prove  their  meeting  and  their  com- 
plicity. Sauverand  handed  Lupin  the  half  of  the  walking- 
stick  which  he  had  carried  away  unawares.  You  will  find  it 
under  the  cushions  of  a  sofa  standing  between  the  two  win- 
dows of  Perenna's  study. 


150  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

Don  Luis  shrugged  his  shoulders.  The  letter  was  ab- 
surd; for  he  had  not  once  left  his  study.  He  folded  it 
up  quietly  and  handed  it  to  the  Prefect  of  Police  without 
comment.  He  was  resolved  to  let  M.  Desmalions  take 
the  initiative  in  the  conversation. 

The  Prefect  asked: 

"What  is  your  reply  to  the  accusation?" 

"None,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"Still,  it  is  quite  plain  and  easy  to  prove  or  disprove." 

"Very  easy,  indeed,  Monsieur  le  Prefet;  the  sofa  is 
there,  between  the  windows." 

M.  Desmalions  waited  two  or  three  seconds  and  then 
walked  to  the  sofa  and  moved  the  cushions.  Under  one 
of  them  lay  the  handle  end  of  the  walking-stick. 

Don  Luis  could  not  repress  a  gesture  of  amazement  and 
anger.  He  had  not  for  a  second  contemplated  the  possi- 
bility of  such  a  miracle;  and  it  took  him  unawares.  How- 
ever, he  mastered  himself.  After  all,  there  was  nothing 
to  prove  that  this  half  of  a  walking-stick  was  really  that 
which  had  been  seen  in  Gaston  Sauverand's  hands  and 
which  Sauverand  had  carried  away  by  mistake. 

"I  have  the  other  half  on  me,"  said  the  Prefect  of 
Police,  replying  to  the  unspoken  objection.  "Deputy 
Chief  Weber  himself  picked  it  up  on  the  Boulevard 
Richard- Wallace.  Here  it  is." 

He  produced  it  from  the  inside  pocket  of  his  overcoat 
and  tried  it.  The  ends  of  the  two  pieces  fitted  exactly. 

There  was  a  fresh  pause.  Perenna  was  confused,  as 
were  those,  invariably,  upon  whom  he  himself  used  to 
inflict  this  kind  of  defeat  and  humiliation.  He  could  not 
get  over  it.  By  what  prodigy  had  Gaston  Sauverand 
managed,  in  that  short  space  of  twenty  minutes,  to  enter 


THE  EBONY  WALKING-STICK  151 

the  house  and  make  his  way  into  this  room?  Even  the 
theory  of  an  accomplice  living  in  the  house  did  not  do 
much  to  make  the  phenomenon  easier  to  understand. 

"It  upsets  all  my  calculations,"  he  thought,  "and  I 
shall  have  to  go  through  the  mill  this  time.  I  was  able 
to  baffle  Mme.  Fauville's  accusation  and  to  foil  the  trick 
of  the  turquoise.  But  M.  Desmalions  will  never  admit 
that  this  is  a  similar  attempt  and  that  Gaston  Sauverand 
has  tried,  as  Marie  Fauville  did,  to  get  me  out  of  the  way 
by  compromising  me  and  procuring  my  arrest." 

"Well,"  exclaimed  M.  Desmalions  impatiently,  "an- 
swer !  Defend  yourself ! ' ' 

"No,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  it  is  not  for  me  to  defend  my- 
self." 

M.  Desmalions  stamped  his  foot  and  growled : 

"In  that  case  ...  in  that  case  .  .  .  since 
you  confess  .  .  .  since  - 

He  put  his  hand  on  the  latch  of  the  window,  ready  to 
open  it.  A  whistle,  and  the  detectives  would  burst  in 
and  all  would  be  over. 

"Shall  I  have  your  inspectors  called,  Monsieur  le  Pre- 
fet?" asked  Don  Luis. 

M.  Desmalions  did  not  reply.  He  let  go  the  window 
latch  and  started  walking  about  the  room  again.  And, 
suddenly,  while  Perenna  was  wondering  why  he  still 
hesitated,  for  the  second  time  the  Prefect  planted  him- 
self in  front,  of  him,  and  said: 

"And  suppose  I  looked  upon  the  incident  of  the  walking- 
stick  as  not  having  occurred,  or,  rather,  as  an  incident 
which,  while  doubtless  proving  the  treachery  of  your 
servants,  is  not  able  to  compromise  yourself?  Suppose 
I  took  only  the  services  which  you  have  already  rendered 


152  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

us  into  consideration?  In  a  word,  suppose  I  left  you 
free?" 

Perenna  could  not  help  smiling.  Notwithstanding  the 
affair  of  the  walking-stick  and  though  appearances  were 
all  against  him,  at  the  moment  when  everything  seemed 
to  be  going  wrong,  things  were  taking  the  course  which 
he  had  prophesied  from  the  start,  and  which  he  had 
mentioned  to  Mazeroux  during  the  inquiry  on  the  Boule- 
vard Suchet.  They  wanted  him. 

"Free?"  he  asked.  "No  more  supervision?  Nobody 
shadowing  my  movements?" 

"Nobody." 

"And  what  if  the  press  campaign  around  my  name 
continues,  if  the  papers  succeed,  by  means  of  certain 
pieces  of  tittle-tattle,  of  certain  coincidences,  in  creating 
a  public  outcry,  if  they  call  for  measures  against  me?" 

"Those  measures  shall  not  be  taken." 

"Then  I  have  nothing  to  fear?" 

"Nothing." 

"Will  M.  Weber  abandon  his  prejudices  against  me?" 

"At  any  rate,  he  will  act  as  though  he  did,  won't  you, 
Weber?" 

The  deputy  chief  uttered  a  few  grunts  which  might 
be  taken  as  an  expression  of  assent;  and  Don  Luis  at 
once  exclaimed: 

"In  that  case,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  I  am  sure  of  gain- 
ing the  victory  and  of  gaining  it  in  accordance  with  the 
wishes  and  requirements  of  the  authorities." 

And  so,  by  a  sudden  change  in  the  situation,  after  a 
series  of  exceptional  circumstances,  the  police  themselves, 
bowing  before  Don  Luis  Perenna's  superior  qualities  of 
mind,  acknowledging  all  that  he  had  already  done  and 


THE  EBONY  WALKING-STICK  153 

foreseeing  all  that  he  would  be  able  to  do,  decided  to  back 
him  up,  begging  for  his  assistance,  and  offering  him,  so 
to  speak,  the  command  of  affairs. 

It  was  a  flattering  compliment.  Was  it  addressed 
only  to  Don  Luis  Perenna?  And  had  Lupin,  the  terrible, 
undaunted  Lupin,  no  right  to  claim  his  share?  Was  it 
possible  to  believe  that  M.  Desmalions,  in  his  heart  of 
hearts,  did  not  admit  the  identity  of  the  two  persons? 

Nothing  in  the  Prefect's  attitude  gave  any  clue  to  his 
secret  thoughts.  He  was  suggesting  to  Don  Luis  Perenna 
one  of  those  compacts  which  the  police  are  often  obliged 
to  conclude  in  order  to  gain  their  ends.  The  compact 
was  concluded,  and  no  more  was  said  upon  the  subject. 

"Do  you  want  any  particulars  of  me?"  asked  the  Pre- 
fect of  Police. 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  The  papers  spoke  of  a 
notebook  found  in  poor  Inspector  Verot's  pocket.  Did 
the  notebook  contain  a  clue  of  any  kind?" 

"No.  Personal  notes,  lists  of  disbursements,  that's  all. 
Wait,  I  was  forgetting,  there  was  a  photograph  of  a 
woman,  about  which  I  have  not  yet  been  able  to  obtain 
the  least  information.  Besides,  I  don't  suppose  that  it 
bears  upon  the  case  and  I  have  not  sent  it  to  the  news- 
papers. Look,  here  it  is." 

Perenna  took  the  photograph  which  the  Prefect  handed 
him  and  gave  a  start  that  did  not  escape  M.  Desmalions's 
eye. 

"Do  you  know  the  lady?" 

"No.  No,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  I  thought  I  did;  but 
no,  there's  merely  a  resemblance  —  a  family  likeness, 
which  I  will  verify  if  you  can  leave  the  photograph  with 
me  till  this  evening." 


154  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Till  this  evening,  yes.  When  you  have  done  with 
it,  give  it  back  to  Sergeant  Mazeroux,  whom  I  will  order 
to  work  in  concert  with  you  in  everything  that  relates 
to  the  Mornington  case." 

The  interview  was  now  over.  The  Prefect  went  away. 
Don  Luis  saw  him  to  the  door.  As  M.  Desmalions 
was  about  to  go  down  the  steps,  he  turned  and  said 
simply : 

"You  saved  my  life  this  morning.  But  for  you,  that 
scoundrel  Sauverand  — 

"Oh,  Monsieur  le  Prefet!"  said  Don  Luis,  modestly 
protesting. 

"Yes,  I  know,  you  are  in  the  habit  of  doing  that  sort 
of  thing.  All  the  same,  you  must  accept  my  thanks." 

And  the  Prefect  of  Police  made  a  bow  such  as  he  would 
really  have  made  to  Don  Luis  Perenna,  the  Spanish 
noble,  the  hero  of  the  Foreign  Legion.  As  for  Weber, 
he  put  his  two  hands  in  his  pockets,  walked  past  with  the 
look  of  a  muzzled  mastiff,  and  gave  his  enemy  a  glance 
of  fierce  hatred. 

"By  Jupiter!"  thought  Don  Luis.  "There's  a  fellow 
who  won't  miss  me  when  he  gets  the  chance  to  shoot!" 

Looking  through  a  window,  he  saw  M.  Desmalions's 
motor  car  drive  off.  The  detectives  fell  in  behind  the 
deputy  chief  and  left  the  Place  du  Palais-Bourbon.  The 
siege  was  raised. 

"And  now  to  work!"  said  Don  Luis.  "My  hands  are 
free,  and  we  shall  make  things  hum." 

He  called  the  butler. 

"Serve  lunch;  and  ask  Mile.  Levasseur  to  come  and 
speak  to  me  immediately  after." 

He  went  to  the  dining-room  and  sat  down,  placing  on 


THE  EBONY  WALKING-STICK  155 

the  table  the  photograph  which  M.  Desmalions  had  left 
behind;  and,  bending  over  it,  he  examined  it  attentively. 
It  was  a  little  faded,  a  little  worn,  as  photographs  have  a 
tendency  to  become  when  they  lie  about  in  pocket-books 
or  among  papers;  but  the  picture  was  quite  clear.  It 
was  the  radiant  picture  of  a  young  woman  in  evening 
dress,  with  bare  arms  and  shoulders,  with  flowers  and 
leaves  in  her  hair  and  a  smile  upon  her  face. 

"Mile.  Levasseur,  Mile.  Levasseur,"  he  said.  "Is  it 
possible!" 

In  a  corner  was  a  half-obliterated  and  hardly  visible  sig- 
nature. He  made  out,  "Florence,"  the  girl's  name,  no 
doubt.  And  he  repeated: 

"Mile.  Levasseur,  Florence  Levasseur.  How  did  her 
photograph  come  to  be  in  Inspector  Verot's  pocket-book? 
And  what  is  the  connection  between  this  adventure  and 
the  reader  of  the  Hungarian  count  from  whom  I  took  over 
the  house?" 

He  remembered  the  incident  of  the  iron  curtain.  He 
remembered  the  article  in  the  Echo  de  France,  an  article 
aimed  against  him,  of  which  he  had  found  the  rough  draft 
in  his  own  courtyard.  And,  above  all,  he  thought  of  the 
problem  of  that  broken  walking-stick  conveyed  into  his 
study. 

And,  while  his  mind  was  striving  to  read  these  events 
clearly,  while  he  tried  to  settle  the  part  played  by  Mile. 
Levasseur,  his  eyes  remained  fixed  upon  the  photograph 
and  he  gazed  absent-mindedly  at  the  pretty  lines  of  the 
mouth,  the  charming  smile,  the  graceful  curve  of  the 
neck,  the  admirable  sweep  of  the  shoulders. 

The  door  opened  suddenly  and  Mile.  Levasseur  burst 
into  the  room,  Perenna,  who  had  dismissed  the  butler, 


156  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

was  raising  to  his  lips  a  glass  of  water  which  he  had  just 
filled  for  himself.  She  sprang  forward,  seized  his  arm, 
snatched  the  glass  from  him  and  flung  it  on  the  carpet, 
where  it  smashed  to  pieces. 

"Have  you  drunk  any  of  it?  Have  you  drunk  any 
of  it?"  she  gasped,  in  a  choking  voice. 

He  replied: 

"No,  not  yet.     Why?" 

She  stammered: 

"The  water  in  that  bottle  .  .  .  the  water  in  that 
bottle " 

"Well?" 

"It's  poisoned!" 

He  leapt  from  his  chair  and,  in  his  turn,  gripped  her 
arm  fiercely: 

"What's  that?    Poisoned!     Are  you  certain?     Speak!" 

In  spite  of  his  usual  self-control,  he  was  this  time 
thoroughly  alarmed.  Knowing  the  terrible  effects  of  the 
poison  employed  by  the  miscreants  whom  he  was  attack- 
ing, recalling  the  corpse  of  Inspector  Verot,  the  corpses 
of  Hippolyte  Fauville  and  his  son,  he  knew  that,  trained 
though  he  was  to  resist  comparatively  large  doses  of 
poison,  he  could  not  have  escaped  the  deadly  action  of 
this.  It  was  a  poison  that  did  not  forgive,  that  killed, 
surely  and  fatally. 

The  girl  was  silent.     He  raised  his  voice  in  command: 

"Answer  me!    Are  you  certain?" 

"No  ...  it  was  an  idea  that  entered  my  head  — 
a  presentiment  .  .  .  certain  coincidences  — 

It  was  as  though  she  regretted  her  words  and  now  tried 
to  withdraw  them. 

"Come,  come,"  he  cried,  "I  want  to  know  the  truth: 


THE  EBONY  WALKING-STICK  157 

You're  not  certain  that  the  water  in  this  bottle  is  poi- 
soned?" 

"No     .     .     .     it's  possible  -   -" 

"Still,  just  now-    -" 

"I  thought  so.     But  no     .     .     .     no!" 

"It's  easy  to  make  sure,"  said  Perennas  putting  out 
his  hand  for  jbhe  water  bottle. 

She  was  quicker  than  he,  seized  it  and,  with  one  blow, 
broke  it  against  the  table. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  he  said  angrily. 

"I  made  a  mistake.  And  so  there  is  no  need  to  attach 
any  importance " 

Don  Luis  hurriedly  left  the  dining-room.  By  his  orders, 
the  water  which  he  drank  was  drawn  from  a  filter  that 
stood  in  a  pantry  at  the  end  of  the  passage  leading  from 
the  dining-room  to  the  kitchens  and  beyond.  He  ran 
to  it  and  took  from  a  shelf  a  bowl  which  he  filled  with 
water  from  the  filter.  Then,  continuing  to  follow  the 
passage,  which  at  this  spot  branched  off  toward  the  yard, 
he  called  Mirza,  the  puppy,  who  was  playing  by  the 
stables. 

"Here,"  he  said,  putting  the  bowl  in  front  of  her. 

The  puppy  began  to  drink.  But  she  stopped  almost 
at  once  and  stood  motionless,  with  her  paws  tense  and 
stiff.  A  shiver  passed  through  the  little  body.  The  dog 
gave  a  hoarse  groan,  spun  round  two  or  three  times,  and 
fell. 

"She's  dead,"  he  said,  after  touching  the  animal. 

Mile.  Levasseur  had  joined  him.  He  turned  to  her  and 
rapped  out: 

"You  were  right  about  the  poison  —  and  you  knew  it. 
How  did  you  know  it?" 


158 

All  out  of  breath,  she  checked  the  beating  of  her  heart 
and  answered: 

"I  saw  the  other  puppy  drinking  in  the  pantry.  She's 
dead.  I  told  the  coachman  and  the  chauffeur.  They're 
over  there,  in  the  stable.  And  I  ran  to  warn  you." 

"In  that  case,  there  was  no  doubt  about  it.  Why  did 
you  say  that  you  were  not  certain  that  the  water  was 
poisoned,  when  - 

The  chauffeur  and  the  coachman  were  coming  out  of 
the  stables.  Leading  the  girl  away,  Perenna  said: 

"We  must  talk  about  this.     We'll  go  to  your  rooms." 

They  went  back  to  the  bend  in  the  passage.  Near 
the  pantry  where  the  filter  was,  another  passage  ran. 
ending  in  a  flight  of  three  steps,  with  a  door  at  the  top 
of  the  steps.  Perenna  opened  this  door.  It  was  the  en- 
trance to  the  rooms  occupied  by  Mile.  Levasseur.  They 
went  into  a  sitting-room. 

Don  Luis  closed  the  entrance  door  and  the  door  of  the 
sitting-room. 

"And  now,"  he  said,  in  a  resolute  tone,  "you  and  I 
will  have  an  explanation." 


CHAPTER  SEVEN 

'  >  I 

SHAPESPEARE 'S   WORKS,    VOLUME  VIII 

TWO  lodges,  belonging  to  the  same  old-time  period 
as  the  house  itself,  stood  at  the   extreme  right 
and  left  of  the  low  wall  that  separated  the  front 
courtyard  from  the  Place   du  Palais-Bourbon.     These 
lodges  were  joined  to  the  main  building,  situated  at  the 
back  of  the  courtyard,  by  a  series  of  outhouses.     On 
one  side  were  the  coach-houses,  stables,  harness-rooms, 
and  garage,  with  the  porter's  lodge  at  the  end;  on  the 
other  side,  the  wash-houses,  kitchens,  and  offices,  ending 
in  the  lodge  occupied  by  Mile.  Levasseur. 

This  lodge  had  only  a  ground  floor,  consisting  of  a 
dark  entrance  hall  and  one  large  room,  most  of  which 
served  as  a  sitting-room,  while  the  rest,  arranged  as  a 
bedroom,  was  really  only  a  sort  of  alcove.  A  curtain 
hid  the  bed  and  wash-hand-stand.  There  were  two  win- 
dows looking  out  on  the  Place  du  Palais-Bourbon. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  Don  Luis  had  set  foot  in 
Mile.  Levasseur's  room.  Engrossed  though  he  was  with 
other  matters,  he  felt  its  charm.  It  was  very  simply 
furnished:  some  old  mahogany  chairs  and  armchairs,  a 
plain,  Empire  writing-table,  a  round  table  with  one  heavy, 
massive  leg,  and  some  book-shelves.  But  the  bright 
colour  of  the  linen  curtains  enlivened  the  room.  On  the 
walls  hung  reproductions  of  famous  pictures,  drawings  of 


160  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

sunny  buildings  and  landscapes,  Italian  villas,  Sicilian 
temples.  .  .  . 

The  girl  remained  standing.  She  had  resumed  her 
composure,  and  her  face  had  taken  on  the  enigmatical 
expression  so  difficult  to  fathom,  especially  as  she  had 
assumed  a  deliberate  air  of  dejection,  which  Perenna 
guessed  was  intended  to  hide  her  excitement  and  alert- 
ness, together  with  the  tumultuous  feelings  which  even 
she  had  great  difficulty  in  controlling. 

Her  eyes  looked  neither  timorous  nor  defiant.  It  really 
seemed  as  though  she  had  nothing  to  fear  from  the  ex- 
planation. 

Don  Luis  kept  silent  for  some  little  time.  It  was 
strange  and  it  annoyed  him  to  feel  it,  but  he  experienced 
9,  certain  embarrassment  in  the  presence  of  this  woman, 
against  whom  he  was  inwardly  bringing  the  most  serious 
charges.  And,  not  daring  to  put  them  into  words,  not 
daring  to  say  plainly  what  he  thought,  he  began: 

"  You  know  what  happened  in  this  house  this  morning?  " 

"This  morning?" 

"Yes,  when  I  had  finished  speaking  on  the  telephone." 

"I  know  now.  I  heard  it  from  the  servants,  from  the 
butler." 

"Not  before?" 

"How  could  I  have  known  earlier?" 

She  was  lying.  It  was  impossible  that  she  should  be 
speaking  the  truth.  And  yet  in  what  a  calm  voice  she 
had  replied ! 

He  went  on: 

"I  will  tell  you,  in  a  few  words,  what  happened.  I 
was  leaving  the  telephone  box,  when  the  iron  curtain, 
Concealed  in  the  upper  part  of  the  wall,  fell  in  front  of 


SHAKESPEARE'S  WORKS,  VOLUME  VIII  161 

me.  After  making  sure  that  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done,  I  simply  resolved,  as  I  had  the  telephone  by  me, 
to  call  in  the  assistance  of  one  of  my  friends.  I  rang 
up  Major  d'Astrignac.  He  came  at  once  and,  with  the 
help  of  the  butler,  let  me  out.  Is  that  what  you  heard?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur.  I  had  gone  to  my  room,  which  ex- 
plains why  I  knew  nothing  of  the  incident  or  of  Major 
d'Astrignac's  visit." 

"Very  well.  It  appears,  however,  from  what  I  learned 
when  I  was  released,  that  the  butler  and,  for  that  matter, 
everybody  in  the  house,  including  yourself,  knew  of  the 
existence  of  that  iron  curtain." 

"Certainly." 

"And  how  did  you  know  it?" 

"Through  Baron  Malonyi.  He  told  me  that,  during 
the  Revolution,  his  great-grandmother,  on  the  mother's 
side,  who  then  occupied  this  house  and  whose  husband 
was  guillotined,  remained  hidden  in  that  recess  for  thir- 
teen months.  At  that  time  the  curtain  was  covered  with 
woodwork  similar  to  that  of  the  room." 

"It's  a  pity  that  I  wasn't  informed  of  it,  for,  after  all, 
I  was  very  nearly  crushed  to  death." 

This  possibility  did  not  seem  to  move  the  girl.  She 
said: 

"It  would  be  a  good  thing  to  look  at  the  mechanism 
and  see  why  it  became  unfastened.  It's  all  very  old  and 
works  badly." 

"The  mechanism  works  perfectly.  I  tested  it.  An 
accident  is  not  enough  to  account  for  it." 

"Who  could  have  done  it,  if  it  was  not  an  accident?" 

"Some  enemy  whom  I  am  unable  to  name." 

"He  would  have  been  seen." 


162  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"There  was  only  one  person  who  could  have  seen  him 
—  yourself.  You  happened  to  pass  through  my  study 
as  I  was  telephoning  and  I  heard  your  exclamation  of 
fright  at  the  news  about  Mme.  Fauville." 

"Yes,  it  gave  me  a  shock.  I  pity  the  woman  so  very 
much,  whether  she  is  guilty  or  not." 

"And,  as  you  were  close  to  the  arch,  with  your  hand 
within  reach  of  the  spring,  the  presence  of  an  evildoer 
would  not  have  escaped  your  notice." 

She  did  not  lower  her  eyes.  A  slight  flush  overspread 
her  face,  and  she  said: 

"Yes,  I  should  at  least  have  met  him,  for,  from  what 
I  gather,  I  went  out  a  few  seconds  before  the  accident." 

"Quite  so,"  he  said.  "But  what  is  so  curious  and  un- 
likely is  that  you  did  not  hear  the  loud  noise  of  the  cur- 
tain falling,  nor  my  shouts  and  all  the  uproar  I  created." 

"I  must  have  closed  the  door  of  the  study  by  that 
time.  I  heard  nothing." 

"Then  I  am  bound  to  presume  that  there  was  some  one 
hidden  in  my  study  at  that  moment,  and  that  this  person 
is  a  confederate  of  the  ruffians  who  committed  the  two 
murders  on  the  Boulevard  Suchet;  for  the  Prefect  of 
Police  has  just  discovered  under  the  cushions  of  my  sofa 
the  half  of  a  walking-stick  belonging  to  one  of  those 
ruffians." 

She  wore  an  air  of  great  surprise.  This  new  incident 
seemed  really  to  be  quite  unknown  to  her.  He  came 
nearer  and,  looking  her  straight  in  the  eyes,  said: 

"You  must  at  least  admit  that  it's  strange." 

"What's  strange?" 

"This  series  of  events,  all  directed  against  me.  Yes- 
terday, that  draft  of  a  letter  which  I  found  in  the  court- 


yard  —  the  draft  of  the  article  published  in  the  Echo  de 
France.  This  morning,  first  the  crash  of  the  iron  curtain 
just  as  I  was  passing  under  it,  next,  the  discovery  of  that 
walking-stick,  and  then,  a  moment  ago,  the  poisoned  water 

bottle " 

She  nodded  her  head  and  murmured: 

"Yes,  yes  —  there  is  an  array  of  facts " 

"An  array  of  facts  so  significant,"  he  said,  completing 
her  sentence  meaningly,  "as  to  remove  the  least  shadow 
of  doubt.  I  can  feel  absolutely  certain  of  the  immediate 
intervention  of  my  most  ruthless  and  daring  enemy. 
His  presence  here  is  proved.  He  is  ready  to  act  at  any 
moment.  His  object  is  plain,"  explained  Don  Luis. 
"By  means  of  the  anonymous  article,  by  means  of  that 
half  of  the  walking-stick,  he  meant  to  compromise  me 
and  have  me  arrested.  By  the  fall  of  the  curtain  he 
meant  to  kill  me  or  at  least  to  keep  me  imprisoned  for 
some  hours.  And  now  it's  poison,  the  cowardly  poison 
which  kills  by  stealth,  which  they  put  in  my  water  to-day 
and  which  they  will  put  in  my  food  to-morrow.  And 
next  it  will  be  the  dagger  and  then  the  revolver  and  then 
the  rope,  no  matter  which,  so  long  as  I  disappear;  for  that 
v  is  what  they  want:  to  get  rid  of  me. 

"I  am  the  adversary,  I  am  the  man  they're  afraid  of, 
the  man  who  will  discover  the  secret  one  day  and  pocket 
the  millions  which  they're  after.  I  am  the  interloper.  I 
stand  mounting  guard  over  the  Mornington  inheritance. 
It's  my  turn  to  suffer.  Four  victims  are  dead  already. 
I  shall  be  the  fifth.  So  Gaston  Sauverand  has  decided: 
Gaston  Sauverand  or  some  one  else  who's  managing  the 
business." 
Perenna's  eyes  narrowed. 


164  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"The  accomplice  is  here,  in  this  house,  in  the  midst  of 
everything,  by  my  side.  He  is  lying  in  wait  for  me.  He 
is  following  every  step  I  take.  He  is  living  in  my  shadow. 
He  is  waiting  for  the  time  and  place  to  strike  me.  Well, 
I  have  had  enough  of  it.  I  want  to  know,  I  will  know, 
and  I  shall  know.  Who  is  he?" 

The  girl  had  moved  back  a  little  way  and  was  leaning 
against  the  round  table.  He  took  another  step  forward 
and,  with  his  eyes  still  fixed  on  hers,  looking  in  that  im- 
mobile face  for  a  quivering  sign  of  fear  or  anxiety,  he 
repeated,  with  greater  violence: 

"Who  is  the  accomplice?  Who  in  the  house  has  sworn 
to  take  my  life?" 

"I  don't  know,"  she  said,  "I  don't  know.  Perhaps 
there  is  no  plot,  as  you  think,  but  just  a  series  of  chance 
coincidences 

He  felt  inclined  to  say  to  her,  with  his  habit  of  adopt- 
ing a  familiar  tone  toward  those  whom  he  regarded  as 
his  adversaries : 

"You're  lying,  dearie,  you're  lying.  The  accomplice 
is  yourself,  my  beauty.  You  alone  overheard  my  con- 
versation on  the  telephone  with  Mazeroux,  you  alone  can 
have  gone  to  Gaston  Sauverand's  assistance,  waited  for 
him  in  a  motor  at  the  corner  of  the  boulevard,  and  ar- 
ranged with  him  to  bring  the  top  half  of  the  walking- 
stick  here.  You're  the  beauty  that  wants  to  kill  me, 
for  some  reason  which  I  do  not  know.  The  hand  that 
strikes  me  in  the  dark  is  yours,  sweetheart." 

But  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  treat  her  in  this  fash- 
ion; and  he  was  so  much  exasperated  at  not  being  able 
to  proclaim  his  certainty  in  words  of  anger  and  indignation 
that  he  took  her  fingers  and  twisted  them  violently,  while 


SHAKESPEARE'S  WORKS,  VOLUME  VIII  165 

his  look  and  his  whole  attitude  accused  the  girl  even  more 
forcibly  than  the  bitterest  words. 

He  mastered  himself  and  released  his  grip.  The  girl 
freed  herself  with  a  quick  movement,  indicating  repulsion 
and  hatred.  Don  Luis  said: 

"  Very  well.  I  will  question  the  servants.  If  necessary 
I  shall  dismiss  any  whom  I  suspect." 

"No,  don't  do  that,"  she  said  eagerly.  "You  mustn't. 
I  know  them  all." 

Was  she  going  to  defend  them?  Was  she  yielding  to  a 
scruple  of  conscience  at  the  moment  when  her  obstinacy 
and  duplicity  were  on  the  point  of  causing  her  to  sacrifice 
a  set  of  servants  whose  conduct  she  knew  to  be  beyond 
reproach?  Don  Luis  received  the  impression  that  the 
glance  which  she  threw  at  him  contained  an  appeal  for  pity. 
But  pity  for  whom?  For  the  others?  Or  for  herself? 

They  were  silent  for  a  long  time.  Don  Luis,  standing 
a  few  steps  away  from  her,  thought  of  the  photograph, 
and  was  surprised  to  find  in  the  real  woman  all  the  beauty 
of  the  portrait,  all  that  beauty  which  he  had  not  observed 
hitherto,  but  which  now  struck  him  as  a  revelation. 
The  golden  hair  shone  with  a  brilliancy  unknown  to  him. 
The  mouth  wore  a  less  happy  expression,  perhaps,  a 
rather  bitter  expression,  but  one  which  nevertheless  re- 
tained the  shape  of  the  smile.  The  curve  of  the  chin,  the 
grace  of  the  neck  revealed  above  the  dip  of  the  linen 
collar,  the  line  of  the  shoulders,  the  position  of  the  arms, 
and  of  the  hands  resting  on  her  knees :  all  this  was  charm- 
ing and  very  gentle  and,  in  a  manner,  very  seemly  and 
reassuring.  Was  it  possible  that  this  woman  should  be 
a  murderess,  a  poisoner? 

He  said: 


166  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"I  forget  what  you  told  me  that  your  Christian  name 
was.  But  the  name  you  gave  me  was  not  the  right  one." 

"Yes,  it  was,"  she  said. 

"Your  name  is  Florence:  Florence  Levasseur." 

She  started. 

"What!  Who  told  you?  Florence?  How  do  you 
know?" 

"Here  is  your  photograph,  with  your  name  on  it  almost 
illegible." 

"Oh!"  she  said,  amazed  at  seeing  the  picture.  "I 
can't  believe  it!  Where  does  it  come  from?  Where  did 
you  get  it  from?"  And,  suddenly,  "It  was  the  Prefect 
of  Police  who  gave  it  to  you,  was  it  not?  Yes,  it  was  he, 
I'm  sure  of  it.  I  am  sure  that  this  photograph  is  to 
identify  me  and  that  they  are  looking  for  me,  for  me,  too. 
And  it's  you  again,  it's  you  again  - 

"Have  no  fear,"  he  said.  "The  print  only  wants  a 
few  touches  to  alter  the  face  beyond  recognition.  I  will 
make  them.  Have  no  fear." 

She  was  no  longer  listening  to  him.  She  gazed  at  the 
photograph  with  all  her  concentrated  attention  and  mur- 
mured: 

"I  was  twenty  years  old.  ...  I  was  living  in 
Italy.  Dear  me,  how  happy  I  was  on  the  day  when  it 
was  taken!  And  how  happy  I  was  when  I  saw  my  por- 
trait! ...  I  used  to  think  myself  pretty  in  those 
days.  .  .  .  And  then  it  disappeared.  ...  It 
was  stolen  from  me  like  other  things  that  had  already 
been  stolen  from  me,  at  that  time " 

And,  sinking  her  voice  still  lower,  speaking  her  name 
as  if  she  were  addressing  some  other  woman,  some  un- 
happy friend,  she  repeated: 


SHAKESPEARE'S  WORKS,  VOLUME  VIII  167 

"Florence.     .     .     .     Florence " 

Tears  streamed  down  her  cheeks. 

"She  is  not  one  of  those  who  kill,"  thought  Don  Luis. 
"I  can't  believe  that  she  is  an  accomplice.  And  yet  — 
and  yet " 

He  moved  away  from  her  and  walked  across  the  room, 
from  the  window  to  the  door.  The  drawings  of  Italian 
landscapes  on  the  wall  attracted  his  attention.  Next, 
he  read  the  titles  of  the  books  on  the  shelves.  They 
represented  French  and  foreign  works,  novels,  plays, 
essays,  volumes  of  poetry,  pointing  to  a  really  cultivated 
and  varied  taste. 

He  saw  Racine  next  to  Dante,  Stendhal  near  Edgar 
Allan  Poe,  Montaigne  between  Goethe  and  Virgil.  And 
suddenly,  with  that  extraordinary  faculty  which  enabled 
him,  in  any  collection  of  objects,  to  perceive  details  which 
he  did  not  at  once  take  in,  he  noticed  that  one  of  the 
volumes  of  an  English  edition  of  Shakespeare's  works 
did  not  look  exactly  like  the  others.  There  was  some- 
thing peculiar  about  the  red  morocco  back,  something 
stiff,  without  the  cracks  and  creases  which  show  that  a 
book  has  been  used. 

It  was  the  eighth  volume.  He  took  it  out,  taking  care 
not  to  be  heard. 

He  was  not  mistaken.  The  volume  was  a  sham,  a 
mere  set  of  boards  surrounding  a  hollow  space  that  formed 
a  box  and  thus  provided  a  regular  hiding-place;  and,  in- 
side this  book,  he  caught  sight  of  plain  note-paper,  en- 
velopes of  different  kinds,  and  some  sheets  of  ordinary 
ruled  paper,  all  of  the  same  size  and  looking  as  if  they 
had  been  taken  from  a  writing-pad. 

And  the  appearance  of  these  ruled  sheets  struck  him 


168  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

at  once.  He  remembered  the  look  of  the  paper  on  which 
the  article  for  the  Echo  de  France  had  been  drafted.  The 
ruling  was  identical,  and  the  shape  and  size  appeared 
to  be  the  same. 

On  lifting  the  sheets  one  after  the  other,  he  saw,  on 
the  last  but  one,  a  series  of  lines  consisting  of  words  and 
figures  in  pencil,  like  notes  hurriedly  jotted  down. 

He  read: 

"House  on  the  Boulevard  Suchet. 
"First  letter.     Night  of  15  April. 
"Second.     Night  of  25th. 
"  Third  and  fourth.     Nights  of  5  and  15  May. 
"Fifth  and  explosion.    Night  of  25  May. 

And,  while  noting  first  that  the  date  of  the  first  night 
was  that  of  the  actual  day,  and  next  that  all  these  dates 
followed  one  another  at  intervals  of  ten  days,  he  remarked 
the  resemblance  between  the  writing  and  the  writing  of 
the  rough  draft. 

The  draft  was  in  a  notebook  in  his  pocket.  He  was 
therefore  in  a  position  to  verify  the  similarity  of  the  two 
handwritings  and  of  the  two  ruled  sheets  of  paper.  He 
took  his  notebook  and  opened  it.  The  draft  was  not 
there. 

"Gad,"  he  snarled,  "but  this  is  a  bit  too  thick!'5 

And,  at  the  same  time,  he  remembered  clearly  that, 
when  he  was  telephoning  to  Mazeroux  in  the  morning, 
the  notebook  was  in  the  pocket  of  his  overcoat  and  that 
he  had  left  his  overcoat  on  a  chair  near  the  telephone 
box.  Now,  at  that  moment,  Mile.  Levasseur,  for  no 
reason,  was  roaming  about  the  study.  What  was  she 
doing  there? 


SHAKESPEARE'S  WORKS,  VOLUME  VHI  169 

"Oh,  the  play-actress!"  thought  Perenna,  raging  within 
himself.  "She  was  humbugging  me.  Her  tears,  her  air 
of  frankness,  her  tender  memories:  all  bunkum!  She 
belongs  to  the  same  stock  and  the  same  gang  as  Marie 
Fauville  and  Gaston  Sauverand.  Like  them,  she  is  an 
accomplished  liar  and  actress  from  her  slightest  gesture 
down  to  the  least  inflection  of  her  innocent  voice." 

He  was  on  the  point  of  having  it  all  out  with  her  and 
confounding  her.  This  time,  the  proof  was  undeniable. 
Dreading  an  inquiry  which  might  have  brought  the  facts 
home  to  her,  she  had  been  unwilling  to  leave  the  draft 
of  the  article  in  the  adversary's  hands. 

How  could  he  doubt,  from  this  moment,  that  she  was 
the  accomplice  employed  by  the  people  who  were  work- 
ing the  Mornington  affair  and  trying  to  get  rid  of  him? 
Had  he  not  every  right  to  suppose  that  she  was  directing 
the  sinister  gang,  and  that,  commanding  the  others  with 
her  audacity  and  her  intelligence,  she  was  leading  them 
toward  the  obscure  goal  at  which  they  were  aiming? 

For,  after  all,  she  was  free,  entirely  free  in  her  actions 
and  movements.  The  windows  opening  on  the  Place  du 
Palais-Bourbon  gave  her  every  facility  for  leaving  the 
house  under  cover  of  the  darkness  and  coming  in  again 
unknown  to  anybody. 

It  was  therefore  quite  possible  that,  on  the  night  of  the 
double  crime,  she  was  among  the  murderers  of  Hippolyte 
Fauville  and  his  son.  It  was  quite  possible  that  she  had 
taken  part  in  the  murders,  and  even  that  the  poison  had 
been  injected  into  the  victims  by  her  hand,  by  that  little, 
white,  slender  hand  which  he  saw  resting  against  the 
golden  hair. 

A  shudder  passed  through  him.     He  had  softly  put 


170  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

back  the  paper  in  the  book,  restored  the  book  in  its  place, 
and  moved  nearer  to  the  girl. 

All  of  a  sudden,  he  caught  himself  studying  the  lower 
part  of  her  face,  the  shape  of  her  jaw!  Yes,  that  was 
what  he  was  making  every  effort  to  guess,  under  the  curve 
of  the  cheeks  and  behind  the  veil  of  the  lips.  Almost 
against  his  will,  with  personal  anguish  mingled  with  tor- 
turing curiosity,  he  stared  and  stared,  ready  to  force  open 
those  closed  lips  and  to  seek  the  reply  to  the  terrifying 
problem  that  suggested  itself  to  him. 

Those  teeth,  those  teeth  which  he  did  not  see,  were  not 
they  the  teeth  that  had  left  the  incriminating  marks  in 
the  fruit?  Which  were  the  teeth  of  the  tiger,  the  teeth 
of  the  wild  beast:  these,  or  the  other  woman's? 

It  was  an  absurd  supposition,  because  the  marks  had 
been  recognized  as  made  by  Marie  Fauville.  But  was 
the  absurdity  of  a  supposition  a  sufficient  reason  for  dis- 
carding it? 

Himself  astonished  at  the  feelings  that  agitated  him, 
fearing  lest  he  should  betray  himself,  he  preferred  to  cut 
short  the  interview  and,  going  up  to  the  girl,  he  said  to 
her,  in  an  imperious  and  aggressive  tone: 

"I  wish  all  the  servants  in  the  house  to  be  discharged. 
You  will  give  them  their  wages,  pay  them  such  compensa- 
tion as  they  ask  for,  and  see  that  they  leave  to-day,  de£U 
nitely.  Another  staff  of  servants  will  arrive  this  evening. 
You  will  be  here  to  receive  them." 

She  made  no  reply.  He  went  away,  taking  with  him 
the  uncomfortable  impression  that  had  lately  marked 
his  relations  with  Florence.  The  atmosphere  between 
them  always  remained  heavy  and  oppressive.  Their 
words  never  seemed  to  express  the  private  thoughts  ol 


SHAKESPEARE'S  WORKS,  VOLUME  VIII 

either  of  them;  and  their  actions  did  not  correspond  with 
the  words  spoken.  Did  not  the  circumstances  logically 
demand  the  immediate  dismissal  of  Florence  Levasseur  as 
well?  Yet  Don  Luis  did  not  so  much  as  think  of  it. 

Returning  to  his  study,  he  at  once  rang  up  Mazeroux 
and,  lowering  his  voice  so  as  not  to  let  it  reach  the  next 
room,  he  said: 

"Is  that  you,  Mazeroux?" 

"Yes." 

"Has  the  Prefect  placed  you  at  my  disposal?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  tell  him  that  I  have  sacked  all  my  servants  and 
that  I  have  given  you  their  names  and  instructed  you 
to  have  an  active  watch  kept  on  them.  We  must  look 
among  them  for  Sauverand's  accomplice.  Another  thing: 
ask  the  Prefect  to  give  you  and  me  permission  to  spend 
the  night  at  Hippolyte  Fauville's  house." 

"Nonsense!    At  the  house  on  the  Boulevard  Suchet?" 

"Yes,  I  have  every  reason  to  believe  that  something's 
going  to  happen  there." 

"What  sort  of  thing?" 

"I  don't  know.  But  something  is  bound  to  take  place. 
And  I  insist  on  being  at  it.  Is  it  arranged?" 

"Right,  Chief.  Unless  you  hear  to  the  contrary,  I'll 
meet  you  at  nine  o'clock  this  evening  on  the  Boulevard 
Suchet." 

Perenna  did  not  see  Mile.  Levasseur  again  that  day. 
He  went  out  in  the  course  of  the  afternoon,  and  called 
at  the  registry  office,  where  he  chose  some  servants:  a 
chauffeur,  a  coachman,  a  footman,  a  cook,  and  so  on. 
Then  he  went  to  a  photographer,  who  made  a  new  copy 
of  Mile.  Levasseur's  photograph.  Don  Luis  had  this 


172  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

touched  up  and  faked  it  himself,  so  that  the  Prefect  ol 
Police  should  not  perceive  the  substitution  of  one  set  of 
features  for  another. 

He  dined  at  a  restaurant  and,  at  nine  o'clock,  joined 
Mazeroux  on  the  Boulevard  Suchet. 

Since  the  Fauville  murders  the  house  had  been  left 
in  the  charge  of  the  porter.  All  the  rooms  and  all  the 
locks  had  been  sealed  up,  except  the  inner  door  of  the 
workroom,  of  which  the  police  kept  the  keys  for  the 
purposes  of  the  inquiry. 

The  big  study  looked  as  it  did  before,  though  the  papers 
had  been  removed  and  put  away  and  there  were  no  books 
and  pamphlets  left  on  the  writing-table.  A  layer  of 
dust,  clearly  visible  by  the  electric  light,  covered  its 
black  leather  and  the  surrounding  mahogany. 

"Well,  Alexandre,  old  man,"  cried  Don  Luis,  when  they 
had  made  themselves  comfortable,  "what  do  you  say 
to  this?  It's  rather  impressive,  being  here  again,  what? 
But,  this  time,  no  barricading  of  doors,  no  bolts,  eh?  If 
anything's  going  to  happen,  on  this  night  of  the  fifteenth 
of  April,  we'll  put  nothing  in  our  friends'  way.  They 
shall  have  full  and  entire  liberty.  It's  up  to  them,  this 
time." 

Though  joking,  Don  Luis  was  nevertheless  singularly 
impressed,  as  he  himself  said,  by  the  terrible  recollection 
of  the  two  crimes  which  he  had  been  unable  to  prevent 
and  by  the  haunting  vision  of  the  two  dead  bodies.  And 
he  also  remembered  with  real  emotion  the  implacable  duel 
which  he  had  fought  with  Mme.  Fauville,  the  woman's 
despair  and  her  arrest. 

"Tell  me  about  her,"  he  said  to  Mazeroux.  "So  she 
tried  to  kill  herself?" 


SHAKESPEARE'S  WORKS,  VOLUME  VIII  173 

"Yes,"  said  Mazeroux,  "a  thoroughgoing  attempt, 
though  she  had  to  make  it  in  a  manner  which  she  must 
have  hated.  She  hanged  herself  in  strips  of  linen  torn 
from  her  sheets  and  underclothing  and  twisted  together. 
She  had  to  be  restored  by  artificial  respiration.  She  is 
out  of  danger  now,  I  believe,  but  she  is  never  left  alone, 
for  she  swore  she  would  do  it  again." 

*'She  has  made  no  confession?" 

"No.     She  persists  in  proclaiming  her  innocence." 

"And  what  do  they  think  at  the  public  prosecutor's? 
At  the  Prefect's?" 

"Why  should  they  change  their  opinion,  Chief?  The 
inquiries  confirm  every  one  of  the  charges  brought  against 
her;  and,  in  particular,  it  has  been  proved  beyond  the 
possibility  of  dispute  that  she  alone  can  have  touched 
the  apple  and  that  she  can  have  touched  it  only  between 
eleven  o'clock  at  night  and  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning. 
Now  the  apple  bears  the  undeniable  marks  of  her  teeth. 
Would  you  admit  that  there  are  two  sets  of  jaws  hi  the 
world  that  leave  the  same  identical  imprint?" 

"No,  no,"  said  Don  Luis,  who  was  thinking  of  Florence 
Levasseur.  "No,  the  argument  allows  of  no  discussion. 
We  have  here  a  fact  that  is  clear  as  daylight;  and  the 
imprint  is  almost  tantamount  to  a  discovery  in  the  act. 
But  then  how,  in  the  midst  of  all  this,  are  we  to  explain 
the  presence  of " 

"Whom,  Chief?" 

"Nobody.  I  had  an  idea  worrying  me.  Besides,  you 
see,  in  all  this  there  are  so  many  unnatural  things,  such 
queer  coincidences  and  inconsistencies,  that  I  dare  not 
count  on  a  certainty  which  the  reality  of  to-morrow  may 
destroy." 


174  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

They  went  on  talking  for  some  time,  in  a  low  voice, 
studying  the  question  in  all  its  bearings. 

At  midnight  they  switched  off  the  electric  light  in  the 
chandelier  and  arranged  that  each  should  go  to  sleep  hi  turn. 

And  the  hours  went  by  as  they  had  done  when  the  two 
sat  up  before,  with  the  same  sounds  of  belated  carriages 
and  motor  cars;  the  same  railway  whistles;  the  same 
silence. 

The  night  passed  without  alarm  or  incident  of  any 
kind.  At  daybreak  the  life  out  of  doors  was  resumed; 
and  Don  Luis,  during  his  waking  hours,  had  not  heard  a 
sound  in  the  room  except  the  monotonous  snoring  of 
his  companion. 

"Can  I  have  been  mistaken?"  he  wondered.  "Did 
the  clue  in  that  volume  of  Shakespeare  mean  something 
else?  Or  did  it  refer  to  events  of  last  year,  events  that 
took  place  on  the  dates  set  down?" 

In  spite  of  everything,  he  felt  overcome  by  a  strange 
uneasiness  as  the  dawn  began  to  glimmer  through  the 
half -closed  shutters.  A  fortnight  before,  nothing  had 
happened  either  to  warn  him;  and  yet  there  were  two 
victims  lying  near  him  when  he  woke. 

At  seven  o'clock  he  called  out: 

"Alexandre!" 

"Eh?    What  is  it,  Chief?" 

"You're  not  dead?" 

"What's  that?    Dead?    No,  Chief;  why  should  I  be?" 

"Quite  sure?" 

"Well,  that's  a  good  'un!    Why  not  you?" 

"Oh,  it'll  be  my  turn  soon!  Considering  the  intelli- 
gence of  those  scoundrels,  there's  no  reason  why  they 
should  go  on  missing  me," 


SHAKESPEARE'S  WORKS,  VOLUME  VIII  175 

They  waited  an  hour  longer.  Then  Perenna  opened  a 
window  and  threw  back  the  shutter. 

"I  say,  Alexandre,  perhaps  you're  not  dead,  but  you're 
certainly  very  green." 

Mazeroux  gave  a  wry  laugh: 

"Upon  my  word,  Chief,  I  confess  that  I  had  a  bad  time 
of  it  when  I  was  keeping  watch  while  you  were  asleep." 

"Were  you  afraid?" 

"To  the  roots  of  my  hair.  I  kept  on  thinking  that 
something  was  going  to  happen.  But  you,  too,  Chief, 
don't  look  as  if  you  had  been  enjoying  yourself.  Were 
you  also " 

He  interrupted  himself,  on  seeing  an  expression  of  un- 
bounded astonishment  on  Don  Luis's  face. 

"What's  the  matter,  Chief?" 

"Look!    .    .    .    on  the  table    .    .    .    that  letter " 

He  looked.  There  was  a  letter  on  the  writing-table, 
or,  rather,  a  letter-card,  the  edges  of  which  had  been 
torn  along  the  perforation  marks;  and  they  saw  the  out- 
side of  it,  with  the  address,  the  stamp,  and  the  postmarks. 

"Did  you  put  that  there,  Alexandre?" 

"You're  joking,  Chief.  You  know  it  can  only  have 
been  you." 

"It  can  only  have  been  I  ...  and  yet  it  was  not 
I." 

"But  then " 

Don  Luis  took  the  letter-card  and,  on  examining  it, 
found  that  the  address  and  the  postmarks  had  been 
scratched  out  so  as  to  make  it  impossible  to  read  the 
name  of  the  addressee  or  where  he  lived,  but  that  the 
place  of  posting  was  quite  clear,  as  was  the  date:  Paris, 
1  January,  19  — . 


176  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"So  the  letter  is  three  and  a  half  months  old,"  said 
Don  Luis. 

He  turned  to  the  inside  of  the  letter.  It  contained  a 
dozen  lines  and  he  at  once  exclaimed: 

"Hippolyte  Fauville's  signature!" 

"And  his  handwriting,"  observed  Mazeroux.  "I  can 
tell  it  at  a  glance.  There's  no  mistake  about  that.  What 
does  it  all  mean?  A  letter  written  by  Hippolyte  Fauville 
three  months  before  his  death?" 

Perenna  read  aloud: 

MY  DEAR  OLD  FRIEND: 

' '  I  can  only,  alas,  confirm  what  I  wrote  to  you  the  other  day : 
the  plot  is  thickening  around  me !  I  do  not  yet  know  what  their 
plan  is  and  still  less  how  they  mean  to  put  it  into  execution; 
but  every  thing  warns  me  that  the  end  is  at  hand.  I  can  see  it 
hi  her  eyes.  How  strangely  she  looks  at  me  sometimes! 

"Oh,  the  shame  of  it!  Who  would  ever  have  thought  her 
capable  of  it? 

"I  am  a  very  unhappy  man,  my  dear  friend." 

"And  it's  signed  Hippolyte  Fauville,"  Mazeroux  con- 
tinued, "and  I  declare  to  you  that  it's  actually  in  his 
hand  .  .  .  written  on  the  fourth  of  January  of  this 
year  to  a  friend  whose  name  we  don't  know,  though  we 
shall  dig  him  out  somehow,  that  I'll  swear.  And  this 
friend  will  certainly  give  us  the  proofs  we  want." 

Mazeroux  was  becoming  excited. 

"Proofs?  Why,  we  don't  need  them!  They're  here. 
M.  Fauville  himself  supplies  them:  'The  end  is  at  hand. 
I  can  see  it  in  her  eyes.'  *  Her '  refers  to  his  wife,  to  Marie 
Fauville,  and  the  husband's  evidence  confirms  all  that  we 
knew  against  her.  What  do  you  say,  Chief?" 


SHAKESPEARE'S  WORKS,  VOLUME  VIII  177 

"You're  right,"  replied  Perenna,  absent-mindedly, 
"you're  right;  the  letter  is  final.  Only " 

"Only  what?" 

"Who  the  devil  can  have  brought  it?  Somebody  must 
have  entered  the  room  last  night  while  we  were  here.  Is 
it  possible?  For,  after  all,  we  should  have  heard.  That's 
what  astounds  me." 

"It  certainly  looks  like  it." 

"Just  so.  It  was  a  queer  enough  job  a  fortnight  ago. 
But,  still,  we  were  in  the  passage  outside,  while  they  were 
at  work  in  here,  whereas,  this  time,  we  were  here,  both 
of  us,  close  to  this  very  table.  And,  on  this  table,  which 
had  not  the  least  scrap  of  paper  on  it  last  night,  we  find 
/his  letter  in  the  morning." 

A  careful  inspection  of  the  place  gave  them  no  clue 
to  put  them  on  the  track.  They  went  through  the  house 
from  top  to  bottom  and  ascertained  for  certain  that  there 
was  no  one  there  in  hiding.  Besides,  supposing  that  any 
one  was  hiding  there,  how  could  he  have  made  his  way 
into  the  room  without  attracting  their  attention?  There 
was  no  solving  the  problem. 

"We  won't  look  any  more,"  said  Perenna,  "it's  no 
use.  In  matters  of  this  sort,  some  day  or  other  the 
light  enters  by  an  unseen  cranny  and  everything  gradu- 
ally becomes  clear.  Take  the  letter  to  the  Prefect 
of  Police,  tell  him  how  we  spent  the  night,  and  ask 
his  permission  for  both  of  us  to  come  back  on  the 
night  of  the  twenty -fifth  of  April.  There's  to  be  another 
surprise  that  night;  and  I'm  dying  to  know  if  we 
shall  receive  a  second  letter  through  the  agency  of  some 
Mahatma." 

They  closed  the  doors  and  left  the  house. 


178  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

While  they  were  walking  to  the  right,  toward  La  Muette, 
in  order  to  take  a  taxi,  Don  Luis  chanced  to  turn  his  head 
to  the  road  as  they  reached  the  end  of  the  Boulevard 
Suchet.  A  man  rode  past  them  on  a  bicycle.  Don  Luis 
just  had  time  to  see  his  clean-shaven  face  and  his  glittering 
eyes  fixed  upon  himself. 

"  Look  out ! "  he  shouted,  pushing  Mazeroux  so  suddenly 
that  the  sergeant  lost  his  balance. 

The  man  had  stretched  out  his  hand,  armed  with  a 
revolver.  A  shot  rang  out.  The  bullet  whistled  past 
the  ears  of  Don  Luis,  who  had  bobbed  his  head. 

"After  him! "  he  roared.  "  You're  not  hurt,  Mazeroux?  " 

"No,  Chief." 

They  both  rushed  in  pursuit,  shouting  for  assistance, 
But,  at  that  early  hour,  there  are  never  many  people  in 
the  wide  avenues  of  this  part  of  the  town.  The  man, 
who  was  making  off  swiftly,  increased  his  distance,  turned 
down  the  Rue  Octave-Feuillet,  and  disappeared. 

"All  right,  you  scoundrel,  I'll  catch  you  yet!"  snarled 
Don  Luis,  abandoning  a  vain  pursuit. 

"But  you  don't  even  know  who  he  is,  Chief." 

"Yes,  I  do:  it's  he." 

"Who?" 

"The  man  with  the  ebony  stick.  He's  cut  off  his  beard 
and  shaved  his  face,  but  I  knew  him  for  all  that.  It  was 
the  man  who  was  taking  pot-shots  at  us  yesterday  morn- 
ing, from  the  top  of  his  stairs  on  the  Boulevard  Richard- 
Wallace,  the  one  who  killed  Inspector  Ancenis.  The 
blackguard!  How  did  he  know  that  I  had  spent  the 
night  at  Fauville's?  Have  I  been  followed  then  and 
spied  on?  But  by  whom?  And  why?  And  how?" 

Mazeroux  reflected  and  said: 


SHAKESPEARE'S  WORKS,  VOLUME  VIII  179 

"Remember,  Chief,  you  telephoned  to  me  in  the  after- 
noon to  give  me  an  appointment.  For  all  you  know,  in 
spite  of  lowering  your  voice,  you  may  have  been  heard 
by  somebody  at  your  place." 

Don  Luis  did  not  answer.     He  thought  of  Florence. 

That  morning  Don  Luis's  letters  were  not  brought  to  him 
by  Mile.  Levasseur,  nor  did  he  send  for  her.  He  caught 
sight  of  her  several  times  giving  orders  to  the  new  servants. 
She  must  afterward  have  gone  back  to  her  room,  for  he 
did  not  see  her  again. 

In  the  afternoon  he  rang  for  his  car  and  drove  to  the 
house  on  the  Boulevard  Suchet,  to  pursue  with  Mazeroux, 
by  the  Prefect's  instructions,  a  search  that  led  to  no  re- 
sult whatever. 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  he  came  in.  The  detective 
sergeant  and  he  had  some  dinner  together.  Afterward, 
wishing  also  to  examine  the  home  of  the  man  with  the 
ebony  stick,  he  got  into  his  car  again,  still  accompanied 
by  Mazeroux,  and  told  the  man  to  drive  to  the  Boulevard 
Richard- Wallace. 

The  car  crossed  the  Seine  and  followed  the  right  bank- 

"Faster,"  he  said  to  his  new  chauffeur,  through  the 
speaking-tube.  "I'm  accustomed  to  go  at  a  good  pace." 

"You'll  have  an  upset  one  fine  day,  Chief,"  said  Maze- 
roux. 

"No  fear,"  replied  Don  Luis.  "Motor  accidents  are 
reserved  for  fools." 

They  reached  the  Place  de  1'Alma.  The  car  turned  to 
the  left. 

"Straight  ahead!"  cried  Don  Luis.  "Go  up  by  the 
Trocadero." 

The  car  veered  back  again.     But.  suddenly  it  gave  three 


180  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

or  four  lurches  in  the  road,  took  the  pavement,  ran  into  £ 
tree  and  fell  over  on  its  side. 

In  a  few  seconds  a  dozen  people  were  standing  round. 
They  broke  one  of  the  windows  and  opened  the  door. 
Don  Luis  was  the  first. 

"It's  nothing,"  he  said.  "I'm  all  right.  And  you, 
Alexandre?" 

They  helped  the  sergeant  out.  He  had  a  few  bruises 
find  a  little  pain,  but  no  serious  injury. 

Only  the  chauffeur  had  been  thrown  from  his  seat  and 
{ay  motionless  on  the  pavement,  bleeding  from  the  head. 
He  was  carried  into  a  chemist's  shop  and  died  in  ten  min- 
utes. 

Mazeroux  had  gone  in  with  the  poor  victim  and,  feeling 
pretty  well  stunned,  had  himself  been  given  a  pick-me-up. 
When  he  went  back  to  the  motor  car  he  found  two  police- 
men entering  particulars  of  the  accident  in  their  notebooks 
and  taking  evidence  from  the  bystanders;  but  the  chief 
was  not  there. 

Perenna  in  fact  had  jumped  into  a  taxicab  and  driven 
home  as  fast  as  he  could.  He  got  out  in  the  square,  ran 
through  the  gateway,  crossed  the  courtyard,  and  went 
down  the  passage  that  led  to  Mile.  Levasseur's  quarters. 
He  leaped  up  the  steps,  knocked,  and  entered  without 
waiting  for  an  answer. 

The  door  of  the  room  that  served  as  a  sitting-room  was 
opened  and  Florence  appeared.  He  pushed  her  back 
into  the  room,  and  said,  in  a  tone  furious  with  indignation : 

"It's  done.  The  accident  has  occurred.  And  yet  none 
of  the  old  servants  can  have  prepared  it,  because  they 
were  not  there  and  because  I  was  out  with  the  car  this 
afternoon.  Therefore,  it  must  have  been  late  in  the  day, 


SHAKESPEARE'S  WORKS,  VOLUME  VIII  181 

between  six  and  nine  o'clock,  that  somebody  went  to  the 
garage  and  filed  the  steering-rod  three  quarters  through." 

"I  don't  understand.  I  don't  understand,"  she  said, 
with  a  scared  look. 

"You  understand  perfectly  well  that  the  accomplice 
of  the  ruffians  cannot  be  one  of  the  new  servants,  and 
you  understand  perfectly  well  that  the  job  was  bound 
to  succeed  and  that  it  did  succeed,  beyond  their  hopes. 
There  is  a  victim,  who  suffers  instead  of  myself." 

"But  tell  me  what  has  happened,  Monsieur!  You 
frighten  me!  What  accident?  What  was  it?" 

"The  motor  car  was  overturned.  The  chauffeur  is 
dead." 

"Oh,"  she  said,  "how  horrible!  And  you  think  that 
I  can  have Oh,  dead,  how  horrible!  Poor  man!" 

Her  voice  grew  fainter.  She  was  standing  opposite 
to  Perenna,  close  up  against  him.  Pale  and  swooning,  she 
closed  her  eyes,  staggered. 

He  caught  her  in  his  arms  as  she  fell.  She  tried  to  re- 
lease herself,  but  had  not  the  strength;  and  he  laid  her 
in  a  chair,  while  she  moaned,  repeatedly: 

"Poor  man!     Poor  man!" 

Keeping  one  of  his  arms  under  the  girl's  head,  he  took 
a  handkerchief  in  the  other  hand  and  wiped  her  forehead, 
which  was  wet  with  perspiration,  and  her  pallid  cheeks, 
down  which  the  tears  streamed. 

She  must  have  lost  consciousness  entirely,  for  she  sur- 
rendered herself  to  Perenna's  cares  without  the  least  re- 
sistance. And  he,  making  no  further  movement,  began 
anxiously  to  examine  the  mouth  before  his  eyes,  the  mouth 
with  the  lips  usually  so  red,  now  bloodless  and  discoloured. 

Gently  passing  one  of  his  fingers  over  each  of  them, 


182  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

with  a  continuous  pressure,  he  separated  them,  asont 
separates  the  petals  of  a  flower;  and  the  two  rows  of  teeth 
appeared. 

They  were  charming,  beautifully  shaped,  and  beautifully 
white;  a  little  smaller  perhaps  than  Mme.  Fauville's, 
perhaps  also  arranged  in  a  wider  curve.  But  what  did  he 
know?  Who  could  say  that  their  bite  would  not  leave 
the  same  imprint?  It  was  an  improbable  supposition, 
an  impossible  miracle,  he  knew.  And  yet  the  circum- 
stances were  all  against  the  girl  and  pointed  to  her  as  the 
most  daring,  cruel,  implacable,  and  terrible  of  criminals. 

Her  breathing  became  regular.  He  perceived  the  cool 
fragrance  of  her  mouth,  intoxicating  as  the  scent  of  a 
rose.  In  spite  of  himself,  he  bent  down,  came  so  close, 
so  close  that  he  was  seized  with  giddiness  and  had  to 
make  a  great  effort  to  lay  the  girl's  head  on  the  back  of 
the  chair  and  to  take  his  eyes  from  the  fair  face  with  the 
half -parted  lips. 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  went. 


CHAPTER  EIGHT 

THE   DEVIL'S   POST-OFFICE 

F  ALL  these  events  the  public  knew  only  of  the 
attempted  suicide  of  Mme.  Fauville,  the  capture 
and  escape  of  Gaston  Sauverand,  the  murder  of 
Chief  Inspector  Ancenis,  and  the  discovery  of  a  letter 
written  by  Hippolyte  Fauville.  This  was  enough,  how- 
ever, to  reawaken  their  curiosity,  as  they  were  already 
singularly  puzzled  by  the  Mornington  case  and  took  the 
greatest  interest  in  all  the  movements,  however  slight,  of 
the  mysterious  Don  Luis  Perenna,  whom  they  insisted  on 
confusing  with  Arsene  Lupin. 

He  was,  of  course,  credited  with  the  brief  capture  of 
the  man  with  the  ebony  walking-stick.  It  was  also 
known  that  he  had  saved  the  life  of  the  Prefect  of  Police, 
and  that,  finally,  having  at  his  own  request  spent  the 
night  in  the  house  on  the  Boulevard  Suchet,  he  had  be- 
come the  recipient  of  Hippolyte  Fauville's  famous  letter. 
And  all  this  added  immensely  to  the  excitement  of  the 
aforesaid  public. 

But  how  much  more  complicated  and  disconcerting 
were  the  problems  set  to  Don  Luis  Perenna  himself! 
Not  to  mention  the  denunciation  in  the  anonymous 
article,  there  had  been,  in  the  short  space  of  forty-eight 
hours,  no  fewer  than  four  separate  attempts  to  kill  him: 
by  the  iron  curtain,  by  poison,  by  the  shooting  on  the 

183 


184  THE  TEETH  OP  THE  TIGER 

Boulevard  Suchet,  and  by  the  deliberately  prepared  me 
tor  accident. 

Florence's  share  in  this  series  of  attempts  was  not  to 
be  denied.  And,  now,  behold  her  relations  with  the 
Fauvilles'  murderers  duly  established  by  the  little  note 
found  in  the  eighth  volume  of  Shakespeare's  plays,  while 
two  more  deaths  were  added  to  the  melancholy  list:  the 
deaths  of  Chief  Inspector  Ancenis  and  of  the  chauffeur. 
How  to  describe  and  how  to  explain  the  part  played,  in  the 
midst  of  all  these  catastrophes,  by  that  enigmatical  girl? 

Strangely  enough,  life  went  on  as  usual  at  the  house 
in  the  Place  du  Palais-Bourbon,  as  though  nothing  out 
of  the  way  had  happened  there.  Every  morning  Florence 
Levasseur  sorted  Don  Luis's  post  in  his  presence  and  read 
out  the  newspaper  articles  referring  to  himself  or  bearing 
upon  the  Mornington  case. 

Not  a  single  allusion  was  made  to  the  fierce  fight  that 
had  been  waged  against  him  for  two  days.  It  was  as 
though  a  truce  had  been  proclaimed  between  them;  and 
the  enemy  appeared  to  have  ceased  his  attacks  for  the 
moment.  Don  Luis  felt  easy,  out  of  the  reach  of  danger; 
and  he  talked  to  the  girl  with  an  indifferent  air,  as  he 
might  have  talked  to  anybody. 

But  with  what  a  feverish  interest  he  studied  her  un- 
observed! He  watched  the  expression  of  her  face,  at 
pnce  calm  and  eager,  and  a  painful  sensitiveness  which 
showed  under  the  placid  mask  and  which,  difficult  to 
control,  revealed  itself  in  the  frequent  quivering  of  the 
lips  and  nostrils. 

"Who  are  you?  Who  are  you?"  he  felt  inclined  to 
exclaim.  "Will  nothing  content  you,  you  she-devil,  but 
to  deal  out  murder  all  round?  And  do  you  want  my 


THE  DEVIL'S  POST-OFFICE  185 

death  also,  in  order  to  attain  your  object?  Where  do 
you  come  from  and  where  are  you  making  for?" 

On  reflection,  he  was  convinced  of  a  certainty  that 
solved  a  problem  which  had  preoccupied  him  for  a  long 
time  —  namely,  the  mysterious  connection  between  his 
own  presence  in  the  mansion  in  the  Place  du  Palais- 
Bourbon  and  the  presence  of  a  woman  who  was  manifestly 
wreaking  her  hatred  on  him. 

He  now  understood  that  he  had  not  bought  the  house 
by  accident.  In  making  the  purchase  he  had  been  per- 
suaded by  an  anonymous  offer  that  reached  him  in  the 
form  of  a  typewritten  prospectus.  Whence  did  this  offer 
come,  if  not  from  Florence,  who  wished  to  have  him  near 
her  in  order  to  spy  upon  him  and  wage  war  upon  him? 

"Yes,"  he  thought,  "that  is  where  the  truth  lies.  As 
the  possible  heir  of  Cosmo  Mornington  and  a  prominent 
figure  in  the  case,  I  am  the  enemy,  and  they  are  trying 
to  do  away  with  me  as  they  did  with  the  others.  And  it 
is  Florence  who  is  acting  against  me.  And  it  is  she  who 
has  committed  murder. 

"Everything  tells  against  her;  nothing  speaks  in  her 
defence.  Her  innocent  eyes?  The  accent  of  sincerity 
hi  her  voice?  Her  serene  dignity?  And  then?  Yes, 
what  then?  Have  I  never  seen  women  with  that  frank 
look  who  have  committed  murder  for  no  reason,  almost 
for  pleasure's  sake?" 

He  started  with  terror  at  the  memory  of  Dolores 
Kesselbach.  What  was  it  that  made  him  connect  these 
two  women  at  every  moment  in  his  mind?  He  had 
loved  one  of  them,  that  monster  Dolores,  and  had  stran- 
gled her  with  his  own  hands.  Was  fate  now  leading  him 
toward  a  like  Jove  and  a  similar  murder? 


186  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

When  Florence  left  him  he  would  experience  a  sense  of 
satisfaction  and  breathe  more  easily,  as  though  released 
from  an  oppressive  weight,  but  he  would  run  to  the  win- 
dow and  see  her  crossing  the  courtyard  and  be  still  wait- 
ing when  the  girl  whose  scented  breath  he  had  felt  upon 
his  face  passed  to  and  fro. 

One  morning  she  said  to  him: 

"The  papers  say  that  it  will  be  to-night." 

"To-night?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  showing  him  an  article  in  one  of  the 
newspapers.  "This  is  the  twenty-fifth;  and,  according 
to  the  information  of  the  police,  supplied,  they  say,  by 
you,  there  should  be  a  letter  delivered  in  the  house  on 
the  Boulevard  Suchet  every  tenth  day,  and  the  house  is  to 
be  destroyed  by  an  explosion  on  the  day  when  the  fifth 
and  last  letter  appears." 

Was  she  defying  him?  Did  she  wish  to  make  him 
understand  that,  whatever  happened,  whatever  the  obsta- 
cles, the  letters  would  appear,  those  mysterious  letters 
prophesied  on  the  list  which  he  had  found  in  the  eighth 
volume  of  Shakespeare's  plays? 

He  looked  at  her  steadily.  She  did  not  flinch.  He 
answered: 

"Yes,  this  is  the  night.  I  shall  be  there.  Nothing  in 
the  world  will  prevent  me." 

She  was  on  the  point  of  replying,  but  once  more  con- 
trolled her  feelings. 

That  day  Don  Luis  was  on  his  guard.  He  lunched 
and  dined  out  and  arranged  with  Mazeroux  to  have  the 
Place  du  Palais-Bourbon  watched. 

Mile.  Levasseur  did  not  leave  the  house  during  the 
afternoon.  In  the  evening  Don  Luis  ordered  Maze- 


187 

roux's  men  to  follow  any  one  who  might  go  out  at  that 
time. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  sergeant  joined  Don  Luis  in  Hip- 
poly  te  Fauville's  workroom.  Deputy  Chief  Detective 
Weber  and  two  plain-clothesmen  were  with  him. 

Don  Luis  took  Mazeroux  aside : 

"They  distrust  me.     Own  up  to  it." 

"No.  As  long  as  M.  Desmalions  is  there,  they  can 
do  nothing  against  you.  Only,  M.  Weber  maintains  — 
and  he  is  not  the  only  one  —  that  you  fake  up  all  these 
occurrences  yourself." 

"With  what  object?" 

"With  the  object  of  furnishing  proof  against  Marie 
Fauville  and  getting  her  condemned.  So  I  asked  for 
the  attendance  of  the  deputy  chief  and  two  men.  There 
will  be  four  of  us  to  bear  witness  to  your  honesty." 

They  all  took  up  their  posts.  Two  detectives  were 
to  sit  up  in  turns. 

This  time,  after  making  a  minute  search  of  the  little 
room  in  which  Fauville's  son  used  to  sleep,  they  locked 
and  bolted  the  doors  and  shutters.  At  eleven  o'clock 
they  switched  off  the  electric  chandelier. 

Don  Luis  and  Weber  hardly  slept  at  all. 

The  night  passed  without  incident  of  any  kind. 

But,  at  seven  o'clock,  when  the  shutters  were  opened, 
they  saw  that  there  was  a  letter  on  the  table.  Just  as 
on  the  last  occasion,  there  was  a  letter  on  the  table! 

When  the  first  moment  of  stupefaction  was  over,  the 
deputy  chief  took  the  letter.  His  orders  were  not  to 
read  it  and  not  to  let  any  one  else  read  it. 

Here  is  the  letter,  published  by  the  newspapers,  which 


188  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

also  published  the  declarations  of  the  experts  certifying 
that  the  handwriting  was  Hippolyte  Fauville's: 

"I  have  seen  him!  You  understand,  don't  you,  my  dear 
friend?  I  have  seen  him!  He  was  walking  along  a  path  in 
the  Bois,  with  his  coat  collar  turned  up  and  his  hat  pulled  over 
his  ears.  I  don't  think  that  he  saw  me.  It  was  almost  dark. 
But  I  knew  him  at  once.  I  knew  the  silver  handle  of  his 
ebony  stick.  It  was  he  beyond  a  doubt,  the  scoundrel! 

"So  he  is  in  Paris,  in  spite  of  his  promise.  Gaston  Sauve- 
rand  is  in  Paris!  Do  you  understand  the  terrible  significance 
of  that  fact?  If  he  is  in  Paris,  it  means  that  he  intends  to  act. 
If  he  is  in  Paris,  it  means  certain  death  to  me.  Oh,  the  harm 
which  I  shall  have  suffered  at  that  man's  hands!  He  has 
already  robbed  me  of  my  happiness;  and  now  he  wants  my 
life.  I  am  terrified." 

So  Fauville  knew  that  the  man  with  the  ebony  walk- 
ing-stick, that  Gaston  Sauverand,  was  designing  to  kill 
him.  Fauville  declared  it  most  positively,  by  evidence 
written  in  his  own  hand;  and  the  letter,  moreover,  cor- 
roborating the  words  that  had  escaped  Gaston  Sauve- 
rand at  his  arrest,  showed  that  the  two  men  had  at  one 
time  had  relations  with  each  other,  that  they  were  no 
longer  friends,  and  that  Gaston  Sauverand  had  promised 
never  to  come  to  Paris. 

A  little  light  was  therefore  being  shed  on  the  darkness 
of  the  Mornington  case.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  how 
inconceivable  was  the  mystery  of  that  letter  found  on 
the  table  in  the  workroom! 

Five  men  had  kept  watch,  five  of  the  smartest  men 
obtainable;  and  yet,  on  that  night,  as  on  the  night  of  the 
fifteenth  of  April,  an  unknown  hand  had  delivered  the 


THE  DEVIL'S  POST-OFFICE  189 

letter  in  a  room  with  barricaded  doors  and  windows, 
without  their  hearing  a  sound  or  discovering  any  signs 
that  the  fastenings  of  the  doors  or  windows  had  been 
tampered  with. 

The  theory  of  a  secret  outlet  was  at  once  raised,  but 
had  to  be  abandoned  after  a  careful  examination  of  the 
walls  and  after  an  interview  with  the  contractor  who  had 
built  the  house,  from  Fauville's  own  plans,  some  years 
ago. 

It  is  unnecessary  once  more  to  recall  what  I  may 
describe  as  the  flurry  of  the  public.  The  deed,  in  the 
circumstances,  assumed  the  appearance  of  a  sleight-of- 
hand  trick.  People  felt  tempted  to  look  upon  it  as 
the  recreation  of  some  wonderfully  skilful  conjurer 
rather  than  as  the  act  of  a  person  employing  unknown 
methods. 

Nevertheless,  Don  Luis  Perenna's  intelligence  was 
justified  at  all  points,  for  the  expected  incident  had  taken 
place  on  the  twenty-fifth  of  April,  as  on  the  fifteenth. 
Would  the  series  be  continued  on  the  fifth  of  May? 
No  one  doubted  it,  because  Don  Luis  had  said  so  and 
because  everybody  felt  that  Don  Luis  could  not  be  mis- 
taken. All  through  the  night  of  the  fifth  of  May  there 
was  a  crowd  on  the  Boulevard  Suchet;  and  quidnuncs 
and  night  birds  of  every  kind  came  trooping  up  to  hear 
the  latest  news. 

The  Prefect  of  Police,  greatly  impressed  by  the  first 
two  miracles,  had  determined  to  see  the  next  one  for 
himself,  and  was  present  in  person  on  the  third  night. 

He  came  accompanied  by  several  inspectors,  whom 
he  left  in  the  garden,  in  the  passage,  and  in  the  attic  on 
the  upper  story.  He  himself  took  up  his  post  on  the 


190  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

ground  floor  with  Weber,  Mazeroux,  and  Don  Luis 
Perenna. 

Their  expectations  were  disappointed;  and  this  was 
M.  Desmalions's  fault.  In  spite  of  the  express  opinion 
of  Don  Luis,  who  deprecated  the  experiment  as  useless, 
the  Prefect  had  decided  not  to  turn  off  the  electric  light, 
so  that  he  might  see  if  the  light  would  prevent  the  mir- 
acle. Under  these  conditions  no  letter  could  appear, 
and  no  letter  did  appear.  The  miracle,  whether  a  conjur- 
ing trick  or  a  criminal's  device,  needed  the  kindly  aid  of 
the  darkness. 

There  were  therefore  ten  days  lost,  always  presuming 
that  the  diabolical  postman  would  dare  to  repeat  his 
attempt  and  produce  the  third  mysterious  letter. 

On  the  fifteenth  of  May  the  wait  was  renewed,  while 
the  same  crowd  gathered  outside,  an  anxious,  breath- 
less crowd,  stirred  by  the  least  sound  and  keeping  an  im- 
pressive silence,  with  eyes  gazing  upon  the  Fauvilles' house. 

This  time  the  light  was  put  out,  but  the  Prefect  of 
Police  kept  his  hand  on  the  electric  switch.  Ten  times, 
twenty  times,  he  unexpectedly  turned  on  the  light. 
There  was  nothing  on  the  table.  What  had  aroused 
his  attention  was  the  creaking  of  a  piece  of  furniture 
or  a  movement  made  by  one  of  the  men  with  him. 

Suddenly  they  all  uttered  an  exclamation.  Something 
unusual,  a  rustling  noise,  had  interrupted  the  silence. 

M.  Desmalions  at  once  switched  on  the  light.  He  gave 
a  cry.  A  letter  lay  not  on  the  table,  but  beside  it,  on  the 
floor,  on  the  carpet. 

Mazeroux  made  the  sign  of  the  cross.  The  inspectors 
were  as  pale  as  death. 


THE  DEVIL'S  POST-OFFICE  191 

M.  Desmalions  looked  at  Don  Luis,  who  nodded  his 
head  without  a  word. 

They  inspected  the  condition  of  the  locks  and  bolts. 
Nothing  had  moved. 

That  day  again,  the  contents  of  the  letter  made  some 
amends  for  the  really  extraordinary  manner  of  its 
delivery.  It  completely  dispelled  all  the  doubts  that 
still  enshrouded  the  double  murder  on  the  Boulevard 
Suchet. 

Again  signed  by  the  engineer,  written  throughout  by 
himself,  on  the  eighth  of  February,  with  no  visible  ad- 
dress, it  said: 

"No,  my  dear  friend,  I  will  not  allow  myself  to  be  killed 
like  a  sheep  led  to  the  slaughter.  I  shall  defend  myself,  I 
shall  fight  to  the  last  moment.  Things  have  changed  lately. 
I  have  proofs  now,  undeniable  proofs.  I  possess  letters  that 
have  passed  between  them.  And  I  know  that  they  still  love 
each  other  as  they  did  at  the  start,  that  they  want  to  marry, 
and  that  they  will  let  nothing  stand  in  their  way.  It  is  written, 
understand  what  I  say,  it  is  written  in  Marie's  own  hand: 
'Have  patience,  my  own  Gaston.  My  courage  increases  day 
by  day.  So  much  the  worse  for  him  who  stands  between  us. 
He  shall  disappear.' 

"My  dear  friend,  if  I  succumb  in  the  struggle  you  will 
find  those  letters  (and  all  the  evidence  which  I  have  collected 
against  the  wretched  creature)  in  the  safe  hidden  behind  the 
small  glass  case:  Then  revenge  me.  Au  revoir.  Perhaps 
good-bye." 

Thus  ran  the  third  missive.  Hippolyte  Fauville 
from  his  grave  named  and  accused  his  guilty  wife.  From 
his  grave  he  supplied  the  solution  to  the  riddle  and  ex 


THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

plained  the  reason  why  the  crimes  had  been  committed: 
Marie  Fauville  and  Gaston  Sauverand  were  lovers. 

Certainly  they  knew  of  the  existence  of  Cosmo  Morn- 
ington's  will,  for  they  had  begun  by  doing  away  with 
Cosmo  Mornington;  and  their  eagerness  to  come  into  the 
enormous  fortune  had  hastened  the  catastrophe.  But 
the  first  idea  of  the  murder  rose  from  an  older  and  deep- 
rooted  passion:  Marie  Fauville  and  Gaston  Sauverand 
were  lovers. 

One  problem  remained  to  be  solved:  who  was  the 
unknown  correspondent  to  whom  Hippolyte  Fauville 
had  bequeathed  the  task  of  avenging  his  murder,  and  who, 
instead  of  simply  handing  over  the  letters  to  the  police, 
was  exercising  his  ingenuity  to  deliver  them  by  means  of 
the  most  Machiavellian  contrivances?  Was  it  to  his  in- 
terest also  to  remain  in  the  background? 

To  all  these  questions  Marie  Fauville  replied  in  the 
most  unexpected  manner,  though  it  was  one  that  fully 
accorded  with  her  threats.  A  week  later,  after  a  long 
cross-examination  at  which  she  was  pressed  for  the  name 
of  her  husband's  old  friend  and  at  which  she  maintained 
the  most  stubborn  silence,  together  with  a  sort  of  stupid 
inertia,  she  returned  to  her  cell  in  the  evening  and  opened 
the  veins  of  her  wrist  with  a  piece  of  glass  which  she  had 
managed  to  hide. 

Don  Luis  heard  the  news  from  Mazeroux,  who  came 
to  tell  him  of  it  before  eight  o'clock  the  next  morning, 
just  as  he  was  getting  out  of  bed.  The  sergeant  had  a 
travelling  bag  in  his  hand  and  was  on  his  way  to  catch 
a  train. 

Don  Luis  was  greatly  upset. 

"Is  she  dead?"  he  exclaimed. 


THE  DEVIL'S  POST-OFFICE  193 

"No.  It  seems  that  she  has  had  one  more  let-off. 
But  what's  the  good?" 

"How  do  you  mean,  what's  the  good?" 

"She'll  do  it  again,  of  course.  She's  set  her  mind 
upon  it.  And,  one  day  or  another " 

"Did  she  volunteer  no  confession,  this  time  either, 
before  making  the  attempt  on  her  life?" 

"No.  She  wrote  a  few  words  on  a  scrap  of  paper, 
saying  that,  on  thinking  it  over,  she  advised  us  to  ask 
a  certain  M.  Langernault  about  the  mysterious  letters. 
He  was  the  only  friend  that  she  had  known  her  husband 
to  possess,  or  at  any  rate  the  only  one  whom  he  would 
have  called,  'My  dear  fellow,'  or,  'My  dear  friend.' 
This  M.  Langernault  could  do  no  more  than  prove  her 
innocence  and  explain  the  terrible  misunderstanding  of 
which  she  was  the  victim." 

"But,"  said  Don  Luis,  "if  there  is  any  one  to  prove 
her  innocence,  why  does  she  begin  by  opening  her  veins?" 

"She  doesn't  care,  she  says.  Her  life  is  done  for;  and 
what  she  wants  is  rest  and  death." 

"Rest?  Rest?  There  are  other  ways  in  which  she 
can  find  it  besides  in  death.  If  the  discovery  of  the 
truth  is  to  spell  her  safety,  perhaps  the  truth  is  not  im- 
possible to  discover." 

"What  are  you  saying,  Chief?  Have  you  guessed  any- 
thing? Are  you  beginning  to  understand?" 

"Yes,  very  vaguely,  but,  all  the  same,  the  really  un- 
natural accuracy  of  those  letters  just  seems  to  me  a 
sign " 

He  reflected  for  a  moment  and  continued: 

"Have  they  reexamined  the  erased  addresses  of  the 
three  letters?"" 


194  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Yes;  and  they  managed  to  make  out  the  name  of 
Langernault." 

"Where  does  this  Langernault  live?" 

"According  to  Mme.  Fauville,  at  the  village  of  Dam- 
igni,  in  the  Orme." 

"Have  they  deciphered  the  word  Damigni  on  one  of 
the  letters?" 

"No,  but  they  have  the  name  of  the  nearest  town." 

"What  town  is  that?" 

"Alencon." 

"And  is  that  where  you're  going?" 

"Yes,  the  Prefect  of  Police  told  me  to  go  straightaway. 
I  shall  take  the  train  at  the  Invalides." 

"You  mean  you  will  come  with  me  in  my  motor." 

"Eh?" 

"We  will  both  of  us  go,  my  lad.  I  want  to  be  doing 
something;  the  atmosphere  of  this  house  is  deadly  for 
me." 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  Chief?" 

"Nothing.    I  know." 

Half  an  hour  later  they  were  flying  along  the  Versailles 
Road.  Perenna  himself  was  driving  his  open  car  and 
driving  it  in  such  a  way  that  Mazeroux,  almost  stifling, 
kept  blurting  out,  at  intervals: 

"Lord,  what  a  pace!  Dash  it  all,  how  you're  letting 
her  go,  Chief !  Aren't  you  afraid  of  a  smash?  Remember 
the  other  day 

They  reached  Alengon  in  time  for  lunch.  When  they 
had  done,  they  went  to  the  chief  post-office.  Nobody 
knew  the  name  of  Langernault  there.  Besides,  Damigni 
had  its  own  post-office,  though  the  presumption  was  that 


THE  DEVIL'S  POST-OFFICE  195 

M.  Langernault  had  his  letters  addressed  poste  restante 
at  Alengon. 

Don  Luis  and  Mazeroux  went  on  to  the  village  of 
Damigni.  Here  again  the  postmaster  knew  no  one  of  the 
name  of  Langernault;  and  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that 
Damigni  contained  only  about  a  thousand  inhabitants. 

"Let's  go  and  call  on  the  mayor,"  said  Perenna. 

At  the  mayor's  Mazeroux  stated  who  he  was  and 
mentioned  the  object  of  his  visit.  The  mayor  nodded 
his  head. 

"Old  Langernault?  I  should  think  so.  A  decent 
fellow:  used  to  run  a  business  in  the  town." 

"And  accustomed,  I  suppose,  to  fetch  his  letters  at 
Alengon  post-office?" 

"That's  it,  every  day,  for  the  sake  of  the  walk." 

"And  his  house?" 

"Is  at  the  end  of  the  village.  You  passed  it  as  you 
came  along." 

"Can  we  see  it?" 

"Well,  of  course     .     .     .     only " 

"Perhaps  he's  not  at  home?" 

"Certainly  not!  The  poor,  dear  man  hasn't  even  set 
foot  in  the  house  since  he  left  it  the  last  time,  four  years 
ago!" 

"How  is  that?" 

"Why,  he's  been  dead  these  four  years!" 

Don  Luis  and  Mazeroux  exchanged  a  glance  of  amaze- 
ment. 

"So  he's  dead?"  said  Don  Luis. 

"Yes,  a  gunshot." 

"  What's  that! "  cried  Perenna.     "  Was  he  murdered? " 

"No,  no.     They  thought  so  at  first,  when  they  picked 


106  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

him  up  on  the  floor  of  his  room;  but  the  inquest  proved 
that  it  was  an  accident.  He  was  cleaning  his  gun,  and 
it  went  off  and  sent  a  load  of  shot  into  his  stomach. 
All  the  same,  we  thought  it  very  queer  in  the  village. 
Daddy  Langernault,  an  old  hunter  before  the  Lord,  was 
not  the  man  to  commit  an  act  of  carelessness." 

"Had  he  money?" 

"Yes;  and  that's  just  what  clinched  the  matter:  they 
couldn't  find  a  penny  of  it! " 

Don  Luis  remained  thinking  for  some  time  and  then 
asked: 

"Did  he  leave  any  children,  any  relations  of  the  same 
name?" 

"Nobody,  not  even  a  cousin.  The  proof  is  that  his 
property  —  it's  called  the  Old  Castle,  because  of  the 
ruins  on  it  —  has  reverted  to  the  State.  The  authorities 
have  had  the  doors  of  the  house  sealed  up,  and  locked  the 
gate  of  the  park.  They  are  waiting  for  the  legal  period 
to  expire  in  order  to  take  possession." 

"And  don't  sightseers  go  walking  in  the  park,  in  spite 
of  the  walls?" 

"Not  they.  In  the  first  place,  the  walls  are  very  high. 
And  then  —  and  then  the  Old  Castle  has  had  a  bad  repu- 
tation in  the  neighbourhood  ever  since  I  can  remember. 
There  has  always  been  a  talk  of  ghosts:  a  pack  of  silly 
tales.  But  still  - 

Perenna  and  his  companion  could  not  get  over  their 
surprise. 

"This  is  a  funny  affair,"  exclaimed  Don  Luis,  when  they 
had  left  the  mayor's.  "Here  we  have  Fauville  writing 
his  letters  to  a  dead  man  —  and  to  a  dead  man,  by  the  way, 
who  looks  to  me  very  much  as  if  he  had  been,  murdered." 


THE  DEVIL'S  POST-OFFICE  197 

"Some  one  must  have  intercepted  the  letters." 

"Obviously.  But  that  does  not  do  away  with  the 
fact  that  he  wrote  them  to  a  dead  man  and  made  his 
confidences  to  a  dead  man  and  told  him  of  his  wife's 
criminal  intentions." 

Mazeroux  was  silent.  He,  too,  seemed  greatly  per- 
plexed. 

They  spent  part  of  the  afternoon  in  asking  about  old 
Langernault's  habits,  hoping  to  receive  some  useful  clue 
from  the  people  who  had  known  him.  But  their  efforts 
led  to  nothing. 

At  six  o'clock,  as  they  were  about  to  start,  Don  Luis 
found  that  the  car  had  run  out  of  petrol  and  sent  Maze- 
roux in  a  trap  to  the  outskirts  of  Alengon  to  fetch  some. 
He  employed  the  delay  in  going  to  look  at  the  Old  Castle 
outside  the  village. 

He  had  to  follow  a  hedged  road  leading  to  an  open 
space,  planted  with  lime  trees,  where  a  massive  wooden 
gate  stood  in  the  middle  of  a  wall.  The  gate  was  locked. 
Don  Luis  walked  along  the  wall,  which  was,  in  fact,  very 
high  and  presented  no  opening.  Nevertheless,  he  man- 
aged to  climb  over  by  means  of  the  branches  of  a  tree. 

The  park  consisted  of  unkept  lawns,  overgrown  with 
large  wild  flowers,  and  grass-covered  avenues  leading  on 
the  right  to  a  distant  mound,  thickly  dotted  with  ruins, 
and,  on  the  left,  to  a  small,  tumbledown  house  with  ill- 
fitting  shutters. 

He  was  turning  in  this  direction,  when  he  was  much 
surprised  to  perceive  fresh  footprints  on  a  border  which 
had  been  soaked  with  the  recent  rain.  And  he  could  see 
that  these  footprints  had  been  made  by  a  woman's  boots, 
a  pair  of  elegant  and  dainty  boots. 


198 

"Who  the  devil  comes  walking  here?"  he  thought. 

He  found  more  footprints  a  little  farther,  on  another 
border  which  the  owner  of  the  boots  had  crossed,  and 
they  led  him  away  from  the  house,  toward  a  series  of 
clumps  of  trees  where  he  saw  them  twice  more.  Then 
he  lost  sight  of  them  for  good. 

He  was  standing  near  a  large,  half-ruined  barn,  built 
against  a  very  tall  bank.  Its  worm-eaten  doors  seemed 
merely  balanced  on  their  hinges.  He  went  up  and 
looked  through  a  crack  in  the  wood.  Inside  the  window- 
less  barn  was  in  semi-darkness,  for  but  little  light  came 
through  the  openings  stopped  up  with  straw,  especially 
as  the  day  was  beginning  to  wane.  He  was  able  to  dis- 
tinguish a  heap  of  barrels,  broken  wine-presses,  old  ploughs, 
and  scrap-iron  of  all  kinds. 

"This  is  certainly  not  where  my  fair  stroller  turned 
her  steps,"  thought  Don  Luis.  "Let's  look  somewhere 
else." 

Nevertheless,  he  did  not  move.  He  had  noticed  a  noise 
in  the  barn. 

He  listened  and  heard  nothing.  But  as  he  wanted  to 
get  to  the  bottom  of  things  he  forced  out  a  couple  of 
planks  with  his  shoulder  and  stepped  in. 

The  breach  which  he  had  thus  contrived  admitted  a 
little  light.  He  could  see  enough  to  make  his  way  between 
two  casks,  over  some  broken  window  frames,  to  an  empty 
space  on  the  far  side. 

His  eyes  grew  accustomed  to  the  darkness  as  he  went 
on.  For  all  that,  he  knocked  his  head  against  something 
which  he  had  not  perceived,  something  hanging  up  above, 
something  rather  hard  which,  when  set  in  motion,  swung 
to  and  fro  with  a  curious  grating  sound. 


THE  DEVIL'S  POST-OFFICE  199 

It  was  too  dark  to  see.  Don  Luis  took  an  electric 
lantern  from  his  pocket  and  pressed  the  spring. 

"Damn  it  all!"  he  swore,  falling  back  aghast. 

Above  him  hung  a  skeleton! 

And  the  next  moment  he  uttered  another  oath.  A 
second  skeleton  hung  beside  the  first! 

They  were  both  fastened  by  stout  ropes  to  rings  fixed 
in  the  rafters  of  the  barn.  Their  heads  dangled  from  the 
slip-knots.  The  one  against  which  Perenna  had  struck 
was  still  moving  slightly  and  the  bones  clicked  together 
with  a  gruesome  sound. 

He  dragged  forward  a  rickety  table,  propped  it  up  as 
best  he  could,  and  climbed  onto  it  to  examine  the  two 
skeletons  more  closely.  They  were  turned  toward  each 
other,  face  to  face.  The  first  was  considerably  bigger 
than  the  second.  They  were  obviously  the  skeletons 
of  a  man  and  a  woman.  Even  when  they  were  not 
moved  by  a  jolt  of  any  kind,  the  wind  blowing  through 
the  crevices  in  the  barn  set  them  lightly  swinging  to  and 
fro,  in  a  sort  of  very  slow,  rhythmical  dance. 

But  what  perhaps  was  most  impressive  in  this  ghastly 
spectacle  was  the  fact  that  each  of  the  skeletons,  though 
deprived  of  every  rag  of  clothing,  still  wore  a  gold  ring, 
too  wide  now  that  the  flesh  had  disappeared,  but  held, 
as  in  hooks,  by  the  bent  joints  of  the  fingers. 

He  slipped  off  the  rings  with  a  shiver  of  disgust,  and 
found  that  they  were  wedding  rings.  Each  bore  a  date 
inside,  the  same  date,  12  August,  1887,  and  two  names: 
"Alfred  — Victorine." 

"Husband  and  wife,"  he  murmured.  "Is  it  a  double 
suicide?  Or  a  murder?  But  how  is  it  possible  that  the 
two  skeletons  have  not  yet  been  discovered?  Can  one 


200  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

conceive  that  they  have  been  here  since  the  death  of 
old  Langernault,  since  the  government  has  taken  posses- 
sion of  the  estate  and  made  it  impossible  for  anybody  to 
walk  in?" 

He  paused  to  reflect. 

"Anybody?  I  don't  know  about  that,  considering  that 
I  saw  footprints  in  the  garden,  and  that  a  woman  has 
been  there  this  very  day!" 

The  thought  of  the  unknown  visitor  engrossed  him 
once  more,  and  he  got  down  from  the  table.  In  spite  of 
the  noise  which  he  had  heard,  it  was  hardly  to  be  sup- 
posed that  she  had  entered  the  barn.  And,  after  a  few 
minutes'  search,  he  was  about  to  go  out,  when  there 
came,  from  the  left,  a  clash  of  things  falling  about  and 
some  hoops  dropped  to  the  ground  not  far  from  where 
he  stood. 

They  came  from  above,  from  a  loft  likewise  crammed 
with  various  objects  and  implements  and  reached  by  a 
ladder.  Was  he  to  believe  that  the  visitor,  surprised  by 
his  arrival,  had  taken  refuge  in  that  hiding-place  and 
made  a  movement  that  caused  the  fall  of  the  hoops? 

Don  Luis  placed  his  electric  lantern  on  a  cask  in  such 
a  way  as  to  send  the  light  right  up  to  the  loft.  Seeing 
nothing  suspicious,  nothing  but  an  arsenal  of  old  pick- 
axes, rakes,  and  disused  scythes,  he  attributed  what  had 
happened  so  some  animal,  to  some  stray  cat;  and,  to 
make  sure,  he  walked  quickly  to  the  ladder  and  went  up. 

Suddenly,  at  the  very  moment  when  he  reached  the 
level  of  the  floor,  there  was  a  fresh  noise,  a  fresh  clatter 
of  things  falling:  and  a  form  rose  from  the  heap  of  rub- 
bish with  a  terrible  gesture. 

It  was  swift  as  lightning.    Don  Luis  saw  the  great 


THE  DEVIL'S  POST-OFFICE  201 

blade  of  a  scythe  cleaving  the  air  at  the  height  of  his  head. 
Had  he  hesitated  for  a  second,  for  the  tenth  of  a  second, 
the  awful  weapon  would  have  beheaded  him.  As  it  was, 
he  just  had  time  to  flatten  himself  against  the  ladder. 
The  scythe  whistled  past  him,  grazing  his  jacket.  He 
slid  down  to  the  floor  below. 

But  he  had  seen. 

He  had  seen  the  dreadful  face  of  Gaston  Sauverand, 
and,  behind  the  man  of  the  ebony  walking-stick,  wan  and 
livid  in  the  rays  of  the  electric  light,  the  distorted  features 
of  Florence  Levasseur! 


CHAPTER  NINE 

LUPIN'S   ANGER 

HE  REMAINED  for  one  moment  motionless  and 
speechless.  Above  was  a  perfect  clatter  of  things 
being  pushed  about,  as  though  the  besieged  were 
building  themselves  a  barricade.  But  to  the  right  of  the 
electric  rays,  diffused  daylight  entered  through  an  opening 
that  was  suddenly  exposed;  and  he  saw,  in  front  of  this 
opening,  first  one  form  and  then  another  stooping  in  order 
to  escape  over  the  roofs. 

He  levelled  his  revolver  and  fired,  but  badly,  for  he 
was  thinking  of  Florence  and  his  hand  trembled.  Three 
more  shots  rang  out.  The  bullets  rattled  against  the  old 
scrap-iron  in  the  loft.  The  fifth  shot  was  followed  by  a  cry 
of  pain.  Don  Luis  once  more  rushed  up  the  ladder. 

Slowly  making  his  way  through  the  tangle  of  farm  im- 
plements and  over  some  cases  of  dried  rape  seed  forming 
a  regular  rampart,  he  at  last,  after  bruising  and  barking 
his  shins,  succeeded  in  reaching  the  opening,  and  was 
greatly  surprised,  on  passing  through  it,  to  find  himself 
on  level  ground.  It  was  the  top  of  the  sloping  bank 
against  which  the  barn  stood. 

He  descended  the  slope  at  haphazard,  to  the  left  of 
the  barn,  and  passed  in  front  of  the  building,  but  saw 
nobody.  He  then  went  up  again  on  the  right;  and  al- 
though the  flat  part  was  very  narrow,  he  searched  it 

202 


LUPIN'S  ANGER  203 

carefully  for,  in  the  growing  darkness  of  the  twilight,  he 
had  every  reason  to  fear  renewed  attacks  from  the  enemy. 

He  now  became  aware  of  something  which  he  had  not 
perceived  before.  The  bank  ran  along  the  top  of  the 
wall,  which  at  this  spot  was  quite  sixteen  feet  high.  Gas- 
ton  Sauverand  and  Florence  had,  beyond  a  doubt,  es- 
caped this  way. 

Perenna  followed  the  wall,  which  was  fairly  wide,  till  he 
came  to  a  lower  part,  and  here  he  jumped  into  a  ploughed 
field  skirting  a  little  wood  toward  which  the  fugitives 
must  have  run  He  started  exploring  it,  but,  realizing 
its  denseness,  he  at  once  saw  that  it  was  waste  of  time  to 
linger  in  pursuit. 

He  therefore  returned  to  the  village,  while  thinking  over 
this,  his  latest  exploit.  Once  again  Florence  and  her  ac- 
complice had  tried  to  get  rid  of  him.  Once  again  Florence 
figured  prominently  in  this  network  of  criminal  plots. 

At  the  moment  when  chance  informed  Don  Luis  that 
old  Langernault  had  probably  died  by  foul  play,  at  the 
moment  when  chance,  by  leading  him  to  Hanged  Man's 
Barn,  as  he  christened  it,  brought  him  into  the  presence 
of  two  skeletons,  Florence  appeared  as  a  murderous  vision, 
as  an  evil  genius  who  was  seen  wherever  death  had  passed 
with  its  trail  of  blood  and  corpses. 

"Oh,  the  loathsome  creature!"  he  muttered,  with  a 
shudder.  "  How  can  she  have  so  fair  a  face,  and  eyes  of 
such  haunting  beauty,  so  grave,  sincere,  and  almost  guile- 
less?" 

In  the  church  square,  outside  the  inn,  Mazeroux,  who 
had  returned,  was  filling  the  petrol  tank  of  the  motor 
and  lighting  the  lamps.  Don  Luis  saw  the  mayor  of 
Damigni  crossing  the  square.  He  took  him  aside. 


204  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"By  the  way,  Monsieur  le  Maire,  did  you  ever  hear 
any  talk  in  the  district,  perhaps  two  years  ago,  of  the 
disappearance  of  a  couple  forty  or  fifty  years  of  age? 
The  husband's  name  was  Alfred  - 

"And  the  wife's  Victorine,  eh?"  the  mayor  broke  in. 
"I  should  think  so!  The  affair  created  some  stir.  They 
lived  at  Alengon  on  a  small,  private  income;  they  disap- 
peared between  one  day  and  the  next;  and  no  one  has 
since  discovered  what  became  of  them,  any  more  than 
a  little  hoard,  some  twenty  thousand  francs  or  so,  which 
they  had  realized  the  day  before  by  the  sale  of  their 
house.  I  remember  them  well.  l)edessuslamare  their 
name  was." 

"Thank  you,  Monsieur  le  Maire,"  said  Perenna,  who 
had  learned  all  that  he  wanted  to  know. 

The  car  was  ready.  A  minute  after  he  was  rushing 
toward  Alengon  with  Mazeroux. 

"Where  are  we  going,  Chief?"  asked  the  sergeant. 

"To  the  station.  I  have  every  reason  to  believe,  first, 
that  Sauverand  was  informed  this  morning  —  in  what  way 
remains  to  be  seen  —  of  the  revelations  made  last  night 
by  Mme.  Fauville  relating  to  old  Langernault;  and, 
secondly,  that  he  has  been  prowling  around  and  inside 
old  Langernault's  property  to-day  for  reasons  that  also 
remain  to  be  seen.  And  I  presume  that  he  came  by  train 
and  that  he  will  go  back  by  train." 

Perenna's  supposition  was  confirmed  without  delay. 
He  was  told  at  the  railway  station  that  a  gentleman  and 
a  lady  had  arrived  from  Paris  at  two  o'clock,  that  they 
had  hired  a  trap  at  the  hotel  next  door,  and  that,  haying 
finished  their  business,  they  had  gone  back  a  few  minutes 
ago,  by  the  7:40  express.  The  description  of  the  lady 


LUPIN'S  ANGER  205 

and  gentleman  corresponded  exactly  with  that  of  Florence 
and  Sauverand. 

"Off  we  go!"  said  Perenna,  after  consulting  the  time- 
table. "  We  are  an  hour  behind.  We  may  catch  up  with 
the  scoundrel  at  Le  Mans." 

"We'll  do  that,  Chief,  and  we'll  collar  him,  I  swear: 
him  and  his  lady,  since  there  are  two  of  them." 

"There  are  two  of  them,  as  you  say.     Only " 

"Only  what?" 

Don  Luis  waited  to  reply  until  they  were  seated  and 
the  engine  started,  when  he  said: 

"Only,  my  boy,  you  will  keep  your  hands  off  the  lady." 

"Why  should  I?" 

"Do  you  know  who  she  is?  Have  you  a  warrant  against 
her?" 

"No." 

"Then  shut  up.': 

"But- 

"One  word  more,  Alexandre,  and  I'll  set  you  down 
beside  the  road.  Then  you  can  make  as  many  arrests 
as  you  please." 

Mazeroux  did  not  breathe  another  word.  For  that 
matter  the  speed  at  which  they  at  once  began  to  go  hardly 
left  him  time  to  raise  a  protest.  Not  a  little  anxious, 
he  thought  only  of  watching  the  horizon  and  keeping 
a  lookout  for  obstacles. 

The  trees  vanished  on  either  side  almost  unseen.  Their 
foliage  overhead  made  a  rhythmical  sound  as  of  moaning 
waves.  Night  insects  dashed  themselves  to  death  against 
the  lamps. 

"We  shall  get  there  right  enough,"  Mazeroux  ventured 
to  observe.  "There's  no  need  to  put  on  the  pace." 


206 

The  speed  increased  and  he  said  no  more. 

Villages,  plains,  hills;  and  then,  suddenly  in  the  midst 
of  the  darkness,  the  lights  of  a  large  town,  Le  Mans. 

"Do  you  know  the  way  to  the  station,  Alexandra?" 

"Yes,  Chief,  to  the  right  and  then  straight  on." 

Of  course  they  ought  to  have  gone  to  the  left.  They 
wasted  seven  or  eight  minutes  in  wandering  through  the 
streets  and  receiving  contradictory  instructions.  When 
the  motor  pulled  up  at  the  station  the  train  was  whistling. 

Don  Luis  jumped  out,  rushed  through  the  waiting- 
room,  found  the  doors  shut,  jostled  the  railway  officials 
who  tried  to  stop  him,  and  reached  the  platform. 

A  train  was  about  to  start  on  the  farther  line.  The 
last  door  was  banged  to.  He  ran  along  the  carriages,  hold- 
ing on  to  the  brass  rails. 

"Your  ticket,  sir!  Where's  your  ticket?"  shouted  an 
angry  collector. 

Don  Luis  continued  to  fly  along  the  footboards,  giving 
a  swift  glance  through  the  panes,  thrusting  aside  the 
persons  whose  presence  at  the  windows  prevented  him 
from  seeing,  prepared  at  any  moment  to  burst  into  the 
compartment  containing  the  two  accomplices. 

He  did  not  see  them  in  the  end  carriages.  The  train 
started.  And  suddenly  he  gave  a  shout:  they  were  there, 
the  two  of  them,  by  themselves!  He  had  seen  them! 
They  were  there:  Florence,  lying  on  the  seat,  with  her 
head  on  Sauverand's  shoulder,  and  he,  leaning  over  her, 
with  his  arms  around  her! 

Mad  with  rage  he  flung  back  the  bottom  latch  and 
seized  the  handle  of  the  carriage  door.  At  the  same 
moment  he  lost  his  balance  and  was  pulled  off  by  the 
furious  ticket  collector  and  by  Mazeroux,  who  bellowed: 


LUPIN'S  ANGER  207 

"Why,  you're  mad,  Chief!  you'll  kill  yourself!" 

"Let  go,  you  ass!"'  roared  Don  Luis.  "It's  they!  Let 
me  be,  can't  you!" 

The  carriages  filed  past.  He  tried  to  jump  on  to  another 
footboard.  But  the  two  men  were  clinging  to  him,  some 
railway  porters  came  to  their  assistance,  the  station- 
master  ran  up.  The  train  moved  out  of  the  station. 

"Idiots!"  he  shouted.  "Boobies!  Pack  of  asses  that 
you  are,  couldn't  you  leave  me  alone?  Oh,  I  swear  to 
Heaven !" 

With  a  blow  of  his  left  fist  he  knocked  the  ticket  col- 
lector down;  with  a  blow  of  his  right  he  sent  Mazeroux 
spinning;  and  shaking  off  the  porters  and  the  station- 
master,  he  rushed  along  the  platform  to  the  luggage- 
room,  where  he  took  flying  leaps  over  several  batches 
of  trunks,  packing-cases,  and  portmanteaux. 

"Oh,  the  perfect  fool!"  he  mumbled,  on  seeing  that 
Mazeroux  had  let  the  power  down  in  the  car.  "Trust 
him,  if  there's  any  blunder  going!" 

Don  Luis  had  driven  his  car  at  a  fine  rate  during  the 
day;  but  that  night  the  pace  became  vertiginous.  A  very 
meteor  flashed  through  the  suburbs  of  Le  Mans  and 
hurled  itself  along  the  highroad.  Perenna  had  but  one 
thought  in  his  head :  to  reach  the  next  station,  which  was 
Chartres,  before  the  two  accomplices,  and  to  fly  at  Sauve- 
rand's  throat.  He  saw  nothing  but  that:  the  savage  grip 
of  his  two  hands  that  would  set  Florence  Levasseur's 
lover  gasping  in  his  agony. 

"Her  lover!  Her  lover!"  he  muttered,  gnashing  his 
teeth.  "  Why,  of  course,  that  explains  everything !  They 
have  combined  against  their  accomplice,  Marie  Fauville; 


208  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

and  it  is  she  alone,  poor  devil,  who  will  pay  for  the  horrible 
series  of  crimes!" 

"Is  she  their  accomplice  even?"  he  wondered.  "Who 
knows?  Who  knows  if  that  pair  of  demons  are  not  capa- 
ble, after  killing  Hippolyte  and  his  son,  of  having  plotted 
the  ruin  of  Marie  Fauville,  the  last  obstacle  that  stood 
between  them  and  the  Mornington  inheritance?  Doesn't 
everything  point  to  that  conclusion?  Didn't  I  find  the 
list  of  dates  in  a  book  belonging  to  Florence?  Don't  the 
facts  prove  that  the  letters  were  communicated  by 
Florence?  .  .  . 

"Those  letters  accuse  Gaston  Sauverand  as  well.  But 
how  does  that  affect  things?  He  no  longer  loves  Marie, 
but  Florence.  And  Florence  loves  him.  She  is  his  ac- 
complice, his  counsellor,  the  woman  who  will  live  by  his 
side  and  benefit  by  his  fortune.  .  .  .  True,  she  some- 
times pretends  to  be  defending  Marie  Fauville.  Play> 
acting!  Or  perhaps  remorse,  fright  at  the  thought  of  all 
that  she  has  done  against  her  rival,  and  of  the  fate  that 
awaits  the  unhappy  woman! 

"But  she  is  in  love  with  Sauverand.  And  she  continues 
to  carry  oh  the  struggle  without  pity  and  without  respite. 
And  that  is  why  she  wanted  to  kill  me,  the  interloper 
whose  insight  she  dreaded.  And  she  hates  me  and  loathes 
me- 

To  the  hum  of  the  engine  and  the  sighing  of  the  trees, 
which  bent  down  at  the  approach,  he  murmured  inco- 
herent words.  The  recollection  of  the  two  lovers  clasped 
in  each  other's  arms  made  him  cry  aloud  with  jealousy. 
He  wanted  to  be  revenged.  For  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
the  longing,  the  feverish  craving  to  kill  set  his  brain 
boiling. 


LUPIN'S  ANGER  209 

"Hang  it  all!"  he  growled  suddenly.  "The  engine's 
misfiring !  Mazeroux !  Mazeroux ! ' ' 

"What,  Chief!  Did  you  know  that  I  was  here?"  ex- 
claimed Mazeroux,  emerging  from  the  shadow  in  which 
he  sat  hidden. 

"You  jackass!  Do  you  think  that  the  first  idiot  who 
comes  along  can  hang  on  to  the  footboard  of  my  car  with- 
out my  knowing  it?  You  must  be  feeling  comfortable 
down  there!" 

"I'm  suffering  agonies,  and  I'm  shivering  with  cold." 

"That's  right,  it'll  teach  you.  Tell  me,  where  did  you 
buy  your  petrol?" 

"At  the  grocer's." 

"At  a  thief's,  you  mean.  It's  muck.  The  plugs  are 
5etting  sooted  up." 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Can't  you  hear  the  misfiring,  you  fool?" 

The  motor,  indeed,  at  moments  seemed  to  hesitate. 
Then  everything  became  normal  again.  Don  Luis  forced 
the  pace.  Going  downhill  they  appeared  to  be  hurling 
themselves  into  space.  One  of  the  lamps  went  out.  The 
other  was  not  as  bright  as  usual.  But  nothing  diminished 
Don  Luis's  ardour. 

There  was  more  misfiring,  fresh  hesitations,  followed 
by  efforts,  as  though  the  engine  was  pluckily  striving  to 
do  its  duty.  And  then  suddenly  came  the  final  failure, 
a  dead  stop  at  the  side  of  the  road,  a  stupid  break- 
down. 

"  Confound  it ! "  roared  Don  Luis.  "  We're  stuck !  Oh, 
this  is  the  last  straw!" 

"Come,  Chief,  we'll  put  it  right.  And  we'll  pick  up 
Sauverand  at  Paris  instead  of  Chartres,  that's  all." 


210  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"You  infernal  ass!  The  repairs  will  take  an  hour! 
And  then  she'll  break  down  again.  It's  not  petrol,  it's 
filth  they've  foisted  on  you." 

The  country  stretched  around  them  to  endless  dis- 
tances, with  no  other  lights  than  the  stars  that  riddled 
the  darkness  of  the  sky. 

Don  Luis  was  stamping  with  fury.  He  would  have 
liked  to  kick  the  motor  to  pieces.  He  would  have 
liked 

It  was  Mazeroux  who  "caught  it,"  in  the  hapless  ser- 
geant's own  words.  Don  Luis  took  him  by  the  shoulders, 
shook  him,  loaded  him  with  insults  and  abuse  and,  finally, 
pushing  him  against  the  roadside  bank  and  holding  him 
there,  said,  in  a  broken  voice  of  mingled  hatred  and 
sorrow. 

"It's  she,  do  you  hear,  Mazeroux?  it's  Sauverand's 
companion  who  has  done  everything.  I'm  telling  you 
now,  because  I'm  afraid  of  relenting.  Yes,  I  am  a  weak 
coward.  She  has  such  a  grave  face,  with  the  eyes  of  a 
child.  But  it's  she,  Mazeroux.  She  lives  in  my  house. 
Remember  her  name:  Florence  Levasseur.  You'll  arrest 
her,  won't  you?  I  might  not  be  able  to.  My  courage 
fails  me  when  I  look  at  her.  The  fact  is  that  I  have  never 
loved  before. 

"There  have  been  other  women  —  but  no,  those  were 
fleeting  fancies  —  not  even  that:  I  don't  even  remember 

the  past !  Whereas  Florence !  You  must  arrest  her, 

Mazeroux.  You  must  deliver  me  from  her  eyes.  They 
burn  into  me  like  poison.  If  you  don't  deliver  me  I  shall 
kill  her  as  I  killed  Dolores  —  or  else  they  will  kill  me  — 

or Oh,  I  don't  know  all  the  ideas  that  are  driving 

me  wild .' 


LUPIN'S  ANGER 

"You  see,  there's  another  man,"  he  explained.  "There's 
Sauverand,  whom  she  loves.  Oh,  the  infamous  pair! 
They  have  killed  Fauville  and  the  boy  and  old  Langer- 
nault  and  those  two  in  the  barn  and  others  besides: 
Cosmo  Mornington,  Verot,  and  more  still.  They  are 

monsters,  she  most  of  all And  if  you  saw  her 

eyes " 

He  spoke  so  low  that  Mazeroux  could  hardly  hear  him. 
He  had  let  go  his  hold  of  Mazeroux  and  seemed  utterly 
cast  down  with  despair,  a  surprising  symptom  in  a  man 
of  his  amazing  vigour  and  authority. 

"Come,  Chief,"  said  the  sergeant,  helping  him  up. 
"This  is  all  stuff  and  nonsense.  Trouble  with  women: 
I've  had  it  like  everybody  else.  Mme.  Mazeroux  — 
yes,  I  got  married  while  you  were  away  —  Mme.  Mazeroux 
turned  out  badly  herself,  gave  me  the  devil  of  a  time, 
Mme.  Mazeroux  did.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  Chief, 
how  Mme.  Mazeroux  rewarded  my  kindness." 

He  led  Don  Luis  gently  to  the  car  and  settled  him  on 
the  front  seat. 

"Take  a  rest,  Chief.  It's  not  very  cold  'and  there  are 
plenty  of  furs.  The  first  peasant  that  comes  along  at 
daybreak,  I'll  send  him  to  the  next  town  for  what  we 
want  —  and  for  food,  too,  for  I'm  starving.  And  every- 
thing will  come  right;  it  always  does  with  women.  All 
you  have  to  do  is  to  kick  them  out  of  your  life  —  except 
when  they  anticipate  you  and  kick  themselves  out. 
.  I  was  going  to  tell  you:  Mme.  Mazeroux " 

Don  Luis  was  never  to  learn  what  had  happened  with 
Mme.  Mazeroux.  The  most  violent  catastrophies  had 
no  effect  upon  the  peacefulness  of  his  slumbers.  He  was 
asleep  almost  at  once. 


212  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

It  was  late  in  the  morning  when  he  woke  up.  Mazeroux 
had  had  to  wait  till  seven  o'clock  before  he  could  hail  a 
cyclist  on  his  way  to  Chartres. 

They  made  a  start  at  nine  o'clock.  Don  Luis  had  re- 
covered all  his  coolness.  He  turned  to  his  sergeant. 

"I  said  a  lot  last  night  that  I  did  not  mean  to  say. 
However,  I  don't  regret  it.  Yes,  it  is  my  duty  to  do 
everything  to  save  Mme.  Fauville  and  to  catch  the  real 
culprit.  Only  the  task  falls  upon  myself;  and  I  swear 
that  I  shan't  fail  in  it.  This  evening  Florence  Levasseur 
shall  sleep  in  the  lockup!" 

"I'll  help  you,  Chief,"  replied  Mazeroux,  in  a  queer 
tone  of  voice. 

"I  need  nobody's  help.  If  you  touch  a  single  hair  of 
her  head,  I'll  do  for  you.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes,  Chief." 

"Then  hold  your  tongue." 

His  anger  was  slowly  returning  and  expressed  itself  in 
an  increase  of  speed,  which  seemed  to  Mazeroux  a  revenge 
executed  upon  himself.  They  raced  over  the  cobble-stones 
of  Chartres.  Rambouillet,  Chevreuse,  and  Versailles  re- 
ceived the  terrifying  vision  of  a  thunderbolt  tearing  across 
them  from  end  to  end. 

Saint-Cloud.     The  Bois  de  Boulogne     .     .     . 

On  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  as  the  motor  was  turning 
toward  the  Tuileries,  Mazeroux  objected: 

"Aren't  you  going  home,  Chief?" 

"No.  There's  something  more  urgent  first:  we  must 
relieve  Marie  Fauville  of  her  suicidal  obsession  by  letting 
her  know  that  we  have  discovered  the  criminals." 

"And  then?" 

"Then  I  want  to  see  the  Prefect  of  Police." 


LUPIN'S  ANGER  213 

"M.  Desmalions  is  away  and  won't  be  back  till  this 
afternoon." 

"In  that  case  the  examining  magistrate.'* 

"He  doesn't  get  to  the  law  courts  till  twelve;  and  it's 
only  eleven  now." 

"We'll  see." 

Mazeroux  was  right:  there  was  no  one  at  the  law  courts. 

Don  Luis  lunched  somewhere  close  by;  and  Mazeroux, 
after  calling  at  the  detective  office,  came  to  fetch  him 
and  took  him  to  the  magistrate's  corridor.  Don  Luis's 
excitement,  his  extraordinary  restlessness,  did  not  fail  to 
strike  Mazeroux,  who  asked: 

"Are  you  still  of  the  same  mind,  Chief?" 

"More  than  ever.  I  looked  through  the  newspapers  at 
lunch.  Marie  Fauville,  who  was  sent  to  the  infirmary 
after  her  second  attempt,  has  again  tried  to  kill  herself 
by  banging  her  head  against  the  wall  of  the  room.  They 
have  put  a  strait  jacket  on  her.  But  she  is  refusing  all 
food.  It  is  my  duty  to  save  her." 

"How?" 

"By  handing  over  the  real  criminal.  I  shall  inform 
the  magistrate  in  charge  of  the  case;  and  this  evening  I 
shall  bring  you  Florence  Levasseur  dead  or  alive." 

"And  Sauverand?" 

"Sauverand?    That  won't  take  long.      Unless " 

"Unless  what?" 

"Unless  I  settle  his  business  myself,  the  miscreant!" 

"Chief!" 

"Oh,  dry  up!" 

There  were  some  reporters  near  them  waiting  for  par- 
ticulars. He  recognized  them  and  went  up  to  them. 

"You  can  say,  gentlemen,  that  from  to-day  I  am  taking 


214  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

up  the  defence  of  Marie  Fauville  and  devoting  myself  en- 
tirely to  her  cause." 

They  all  protested:  was  it  not  he  who  had  had  Mme. 
Fauville  arrested?  Was  it  not  he  who  had  collected  a 
heap  of  convicting  proofs  against  her? 

"I  shall  demolish  those  proofs  one  by  one,"  he  said. 
"  Marie  Fauville  is  the  victim  of  wretches  who  have  hatched 
the  most  diabolical  plot  against  her,  and  whom  I  am  about 
to  deliver  up  to  justice." 

"But  the  teeth !     The  marks  of  the  teeth ! " 

"A  coincidence!  An  unparalleled  coincidence,  but  one 
which  now  strikes  me  as  a  most  powerful  proof  of  inno- 
cence. I  tell  you  that,  if  Marie  Fauville  had  been 
clever  enough  to  commit  all  those  murders,  she  would 
also  have  been  clever  enough  not  to  leave  behind  her  a 
fruit  bearing  the  marks  of  her  two  rows  of  teeth." 

" But  still  - 

"She  is  innocent!  And  that  is  what  I  am  going  to  tell 
the  examining  magistrate.  She  must  be  informed  of  the 
efforts  that  are  being  made  in  her  favour.  She  must  be 
given  hope  at  once.  If  not,  the  poor  thing  will  kill  her- 
self and  her  death  will  be  on  the  conscience  of  all  who 
accused  an  innocent  woman.  She  must " 

At  that  moment  he  interrupted  himself.  His  eyes 
were  fixed  on  one  of  the  journalists  who  was  standing  a 
little  way  off  listening  to  him  and  taking  notes. 

He  whispered  to  Mazeroux: 

"  Could  you  manage  to  find  out  that  beggar's  name?  I 
can't  remember  where  on  earth  I've  seen  him  before." 

But  an  usher  now  opened  the  door  of  the  examining 
magistrate,  who,  on  receiving  Don  Perenna's  card,  had 
asked  to  see  him  at  once.  He  stepped  forward  and  was 


LUPIN'S  ANGER  215 

about  to  enter  the  room  with  Mazeroux,  when  he  suddenly 
turned  to  his  companion  with  a  cry  of  rage: 

"It's  he!  It  was  Sauverand  in  disguise.  Stop  him! 
He's  made  off.  Run,  can't  you?" 

He  himself  darted  away  followed  by  Mazeroux  and  a 
number  of  warders  and  journalists.  He  soon  outdistanced 
them,  so  that,  three  minutes  later,  he  heard  no  One  more 
behind  him.  He  had  rushed  down  the  staircase  of  the 
"Mousetrap,"  and  through  the  subway  leading  from  one 
courtyard  to  the  other.  Here  two  people  told  him  that 
they  had  met  a  man  walking  at  a  smart  pace. 

The  track  was  a  false  one.  He  became  aware  of  this, 
hunted  about,  lost  a  good  deal  of  time,  and  managed  to 
discover  that  Sauverand  had  left  by  the  Boulevard  du 
Palais  and  joined  a  very  pretty,  fair-haired  woman  — 
Florence  Levasseur,  obviously  —  on  the  Quai  de  1'Horloge. 
They  had  both  got  into  the  motor  bus  that  runs  from  the 
Place  Saint-Michel  to  the  Gare  Saint-Lazare. 

Don  Luis  went  back  to  a  lonely  little  street  where  he 
had  left  his  car  in  the  charge  of  a  boy.  He  set  the  en- 
gine going  and  drove  at  full  speed  to  the  Gare  Saint- 
Lazare.  From  the  omnibus  shelter  he  went  off  on  a  fresh 
track  which  also  proved  to  be  wrong,  lost  quite  another 
hour,  returned  to  the  terminus,  and  ended  by  learning  for 
certain  that  Florence  had  stepped  by  herself  into  a  motor 
bus  which  would  take  her  toward  the  Place  du  Palais- 
Bourbon.  Contrary  to  all  his  expectations,  therefore, 
the  girl  must  have  gone  home. 

The  thought  of  seeing  her  again  roused  his  anger  to  its 
highest  pitch.  All  the  way  down  the  Rue  Royale  and 
across  the  Place  de  la  Concorde  he  kept  blurting  out 
words  of  revenge  and  threats  which  he  was  itching  to 


216  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

carry  out.  He  would  abuse  Florence.  He  would  sting 
her  with  his  insults.  He  felt  a  bitter  and  painful  need 
to  hurt  the  odious  creature. 

But  on  reaching  the  Place  du  Palais-Bourbon  he  pulled 
up  short.  His  practised  eye  had  counted  at  a  glance,  on 
the  right  and  left,  a  half-dozen  men  whose  professional 
look  there  was  no  mistaking.  And  Mazeroux,  who  had 
caught  sight  of  him,  had  spun  round  on  his  heel  and  was 
hiding  under  a  gateway. 

He  called  him: 

"Mazeroux!" 

The  sergeant  appeared  greatly  surprised  to  hear  his 
name  and  came  up  to  the  car. 

"Hullo,  the  Chief!" 

His  face  expressed  such  embarrassment  that  Don  Luis 
felt  his  fears  taking  definite  shape. 

"Look  here,  is  it  for  me  that  you  and  your  men  are 
kanging  about  outside  my  house?" 

"There's  a  notion,  Chief,"  replied  Mazeroux,  looking 
very  uncomfortable.  "You  know  that  you're  in  favour 
all  right!" 

Don  Luis  gave  a  start.  He  understood.  Mazeroux  had 
betrayed  his  confidence.  To  obey  his  scruples  of  conscience 
as  well  as  to  rescue  the  chief  from  the  dangers  of  a  fatal 
passion,  Mazeroux  had  denounced  Florence  Levasseur. 

Perenna  clenched  his  fists  in  an  effort  of  his  whole  being 
to  stifle  his  boiling  rage.  It  was  a  terrible  blow.  He 
received  a  sudden  intuition  of  all  the  blunders  which  his 
mad  jealousy  had  made  him  commit  since  the  day  before, 
and  a  presentiment  of  the  irreparable  disasters  that  might 
result  from  them.  The  conduct  of  events  was  slipping 
from  him. 


LUPIN'S  ANGER  217 

"Have  you  the  warrant?"  he  asked. 
Mazeroux  spluttered: 

"It   was    quite   by    accident.      I    met    the    'Prefect,    who 

was  back.     We  spoke  of  the  young  lady's  business.     And, 

as  it  happened,  they  had  discovered  that  the  photograph 

— you  know,  the  photograph  of  Florence  Levasseur  which 

the    Prefect    lent    you — well,    they    have    discovered    that 

you   faked   it.     And   then   when   I   mentioned  the  name   of 

Florence,  the  Prefect  remembered  that  that  was  the  name." 

"Have    you    the    warrant?"    Don    Luis    repeated,    in    a 

harsher  tone. 

"Well,    you    see,    I    couldn't    help    it.    ...    M.    Des- 

malions,  the  magistrate " 

If  the  Place  du  Palais'Bourbon  had  been  deserted  at 
that  moment,  Don  Luis  would  certainly  have  relieved  him- 
self by  a  swinging  blow  administered  to  Mazeroux's  chin 
according  to  the  most  scientific  rules  of  the  noble  art. 
And  Mazeroux  foresaw  this  contingency,  for  he  prudently 
kept  as  far  away  as  possible  and,  to  appease  the  chief's 
anger,  intended  a  whole  litany  of  excuses : 

"It  was  for  your  good,  Chief.     ...     I  had  to  do  it 

.     Only  think!     You  yourself  told  me:  'Rid  me  of 

the   creature!'    said    you.      'I'm    too    weak.      You'll  arrest 

her,    won't    you?     Her    eyes'  burn    into    me — like    poison! 

Well,   Chief,   could  I  help   it?     No,   I   couldn't,    could  I? 

Especially  as  the  deputy  chief " 

"Ah!      So  Weber  knows?" 

"Why,  yes !  The  Prefect  is  a  little  suspicious  of  you 
since  he  understood  about  the  faking  of  the  portrait.  So 
M.  Weber  is  coming  back  in  an  hour,  perhaps,  with  rein- 
forcements. Well,  I  was  saying,  the  deputy  chief  had 
learnt  that  the  woman  who  used  to  go  to  Gaston  Sauve- 


218  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

rand's  at  Neuilly — you  know,  the  house  on  the  Boulevard 
Richard-Wallace — was  fair  and  very  good  looking,  and 
that  her  name  was  Florence.  She  even  used  to  stay  the 
night  sometimes." 

"You  lie!    You  lie!"  hissed  Perenna. 

All  his  spite  was  reviving.  He  had  been  pursuing 
Florence  with  intentions  which  it  would  have  been  difficult 
for  him  to  put  into  words.  And  now  suddenly  he  again 
wanted  to  destroy  her;  and  thisf  time  consciously.  In 
reality  he  no  longer  knew  what  he  was  doing.  He  was 
acting  at  haphazard,  tossed  about  in  turns  by  the  most 
diverse  passions,  a  prey  to  that  inordinate  love  which 
impels  us  as  readily  to  kill  the  object  of  our  affections  as 
to  die  in  an  attempt  to  save  her. 

A  newsboy  passed  with  a  special  edition  of  the  Paris- 
Midi,  showing  in  great  black  letters: 

"SENSATIONAL    DECLARATION     BY    DON    LUIS 

PERENNA 

"MME.   FAUVILLE   IS   INNOCENT. 
"IMMINENT  ARREST  OF  THE  TWO  CRIMINALS" 

"Yes,  yes,"  he  said  aloud.  "The  drama  is  drawing 
to  an  end.  Florence  is  about  to  pay  her  debt  to  society. 
So  much  the  worse  for  her." 

He  started  his  car  again  and  drove  through  the  gate. 
In  the  courtyard  he  said  to  his  chauffeur,  who  came  up: 

"Turn  her  around  and  don't  put  her  up.  I  may  be 
starting  again  at  any  moment." 

He  sprang  out  and  asked  the  butler: 


LUPIN'S  ANGER  219 

"Is  Mile.  Levasseur  in?" 

"Yes,  sir,  she's  in  her  room." 

"She  was  away  yesterday,  wasn't  she?" 

"Yes,  sir,  she  received  a  telegram  asking  her  to  go  to 
the  country  to  see  a  relation  who  was  ill.  She  came  back 
last  night." 

"I  want  to  speak  to  her.     Send  her  to  me.     At  once." 

"In  the  study,  sir?" 

"No,   upstairs,   in   the  boudoir   next   to   my   bedroom." 

This  was  a  small  room  on  the  second  floor  which  had 
once  been  a  lady's  boudoir,  and  he  preferred  it  to1  his; 
study  since  the  attempt  at  murder  of  which  he  had  been 
the  object.  He  was  quieter  up  there,  farther  away; 
and  he  kept  his  important  papers  there.  He  always 
carried  the  key  with  him:  a  special  key  with  three  grooves 
to  it  and  an  inner  spring. 

Mazeroux  had  followed  him  into  the  courtyard  and 
was  keeping  close  behind  him,  apparently  unobserved  by 
Perenna,  who  having  so  far  appeared  not  to  notice  it.  He 
now,  however,  took  the  sergeant  by  the  arm  and  led  him 
to  the  front  steps. 

"All  is  going  well.  I  was  afraid  that  Florence,  suspect- 
ing something,  might  not  have  come  back.  But  she  prob- 
ably doesn't  know  that  I  saw  her  yesterday.  She  can't 
escape  us  now." 

They  went  across  the  hall  and  up  the  stairs  to  the  first 
floor.  Mazeroux  rubbed  his  hands. 

"So  you've  come  to  your  senses,  Chief?" 

"At  any  rate  I've  made  up  my  mind.  I  will  not,  do 
you  hear,  I  will  not  have  Mme.  Fauville  kill  herself;  and, 
as  there  is  no  other  way  of  preventing  that  catastrophe, 
I  shall  sacrifice  Florence." 


220  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Without  regret?" 

"Without  remorse." 

"Then  you  forgive  me?" 

"I  thank  you." 

And  he  struck  him  a  clean,  powerful  blow  under  the 
chin.  Mazeroux  fell  without  a  moan,  in  a  dead  faint  on 
the  steps  of  the  second  flight. 

Halfway  up  the  stairs  was  a  dark  recess  that  served 
as  a  lumber  room  where  the  servants  kept  their  piails 
and  brooms  and  the  soiled  household  linen.  Don,  Luis 
carried  Mazeroux  to  it,  and,  seating  him  comfortably  on 
the  floor,  with  his  back  to  a  housemaid's  box,  he  stuffed 
his  handkerchief  into  his  mouth,  gagged  him  with  a  towel, 
and  bound  his  wrists  and  ankles  with  two  tablecloths.  The 
other  ends  of  these  he  fastened  to  a  couple  of  strong  nails. 

As  Mazeroux  was  slowly  coming  to  himself,  Don  Luis 
said: 

"I  think  you  have  all  you  want.  Tablecloths — 
napkins — something  in  your  mouth  in  case  you're  hun- 
gry. Eat  at  your  ease.  And  then  take  a  little  nap,  and 
you'll  wake  up  as  fresh  as  paint." 

He  locked  him  in  and  glanced  at  his  watch. 

"I  have  an  hour  before  me.     Capital!" 

At  that  moment  his  intention  was  to  insult  Florence, 
to  throw  up  all  her  scandalous  crimes  in  her  face,  and,  m 
this  way,  to  force  a  written  and  signed  confession  from  her. 
Afterward,  when  Marie  Fauville's  safety  was  insured,  he 
would  see.  Perhaps  he  would  put  Florence  in  his  motor 
and  carry  her  off  to  some  refuge  from  which,  with  the  girl 
for  a  hostage,  he  would  be  able  to  influence  the  police- 
Perhaps But  he  did  not  seek  to  anticipate  events. 

What  he   wanted  was    an   immediate,   violent   explanation. 


LUPIN'S  ANGER 

He  ran  up  to  his  bedroom  on  the  second  floor  and  dipped 
his  face  into  cold  water.  Never  had  he  experienced  such 
a  stimulation  of  his  whole  being,  such  an  unbridling  of 
his  blind  instincts. 

"It's  she!"  he  spluttered.  "I  hear  her!  She  is  at 
the  bottom  of  the  stairs.  At  last!  Oh,  the  joy  of  having 
her  in  front  of  me!  Face  to  face!  She  and  I  alone!" 

He  returned  to  the  landing  outside  the  boudoir.  He 
took  the  key  from  his  pocket.  The  door  opened. 

He  uttered  a  great  shout:  Gaston  Sauverand  was 
there!  In  that  locked  room  Gaston  Sauverand  was  wait- 
ing for  him,  standing  with  folded  arms. 


CHAPTER  TEN 

GASTON  SAUVERAND  EXPLAINS 

G ASTON  SAUVERAND! 
Instinctively,  Don  Luis  took  a  step  back,  drew 
his  revolver,  and  aimed  it  at  the  criminal: 

"Hands  up!"  he  commanded.     "Hands  up,  or  I  fire!" 

Sauverand  did  not  appear  to  be  put  out.  He  nodded 
toward  two  revolvers  which  he  had  laid  on  a  table  beyond 
his  reach  and  said: 

"There  are  my  arms.  I  have  come  here  not  to  fight, 
but  to  talk." 

"How  did  you  get  in?"  roared  Don  Luis,  exasperated 
by  this  display  of  calmness.  "A  false  key,  I  suppose? 
But  how  did  you  get  hold  of  the  key?  How  did  you 
manage  it?" 

The  other  did  not  reply.     Don  Luis  stamped  his  foot: 

"Speak,  will  you?     Speak!     If  not  - 

But  Florence  ran  into  the  room.  She  passed  him  by 
without  his  trying  to  stop  her,  flung  herself  upon  Gaston 
Sauverand,  and,  taking  no  heed  of  Perenna's  presence, 
said: 

"Why  did  you  come?  You  promised  me  that  you 
wouldn't.  You  swore  it  to  me.  Go!" 

Sauverand  released  himself  and  forced  her  into  a  chair. 

"Let  me  be,  Florence.  I  promised  only  so  as  to  reas- 
sure you.  Let  me  be." 

SS2 


GASTON  SAUVERAND  EXPLAINS         223 

"No,  I  will  not!"  exclaimed  the  girl  eagerly.  "It's 
madness!  I  won't  have  you  say  a  single  word.  Oh, 
please,  please  stop!" 

He  bent  over  her  and  smoothed  her  forehead,  separating 
her  mass  of  golden  hair. 

"Let  me  do  things  my  own  way,  Florence,"  he  said 
softly. 

She  was  silent,  as  though  disarmed  by  the  gentleness 
of  his  voice;  and  he  whispered  more  words  which  Don 
Luis  could  not  hear  and  which  seemed  to  convince  her. 

Perenna  had  not  moved.  He  stood  opposite  them 
with  his  arm  outstretched  and  his  finger  on  the  trigger, 
aiming  at  the  enemy.  When  Sauverand  addressed  Flor- 
ence by  her  Christian  name,  he  started  from  head  to  foot 
and  his  finger  trembled.  What  miracle  kept  him  from 
shooting?  By  what  supreme  effort  of  will  did  he  stifle 
the  jealous  hatred  that  burnt  him  like  fire?  And  here 
was  Sauverand  daring  to  stroke  Florence's  hair! 

He  lowered  his  arm.  He  would  kill  them  later,  do 
with  them  what  he  pleased,  since  they  were  in  his  power, 
and  since  nothing  henceforth  could  snatch  them  from 
his  vengeance. 

He  took  Sauverand's  two  revolvers  and  laid  them  in  a 
drawer.  Then  he  went  back  to  the  door,  intending  to 
lock  it.  But  hearing  a  sound  on  the  first-floor  landing, 
he  leant  over  the  balusters.  The  butler  was  coming 
upstairs  with  a  tray  in  his  hand. 

"What  is  it  now?" 

"An  urgent  letter,  sir,  for  Sergeant  Mazeroux." 

"Sergeant  Mazeroux  is  with  me.  Give  me  the  letter 
and  don't  let  me  be  disturbed  again." 

He  tore  open  the  envelope.     The  letter,  hurriedly  writ- 


THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

ten  in  pencil  and  signed  by  one  of  the  inspectors  on  duty 
outside  the  house,  contained  these  words: 

"Look  out,  Sergeant.  Gaston  Sauverand  is  in  the  house. 
Two  people  living  opposite  say  that  the  girl  who  is  known  here- 
abouts as  the  lady  housekeeper  came  in  at  half-past  one,  before 
we  took  up  our  posts.  She  was  next  seen  at  the  window  of  her 
lodge. 

"A  few  moments  after,  a  small,  low  door,  used  for  the  cellars 
and  situated  under  the  lodge,  was  opened,  evidently  by  her. 
Almost  at  the  same  time  a  man  entered  the  square,  came  along 
the  wall,  and  slippecf  in  through  the  cellar  door.  According 
to  the  description  it  was  Gaston  Sauverand.  So  look  out, 
Sergeant.  At  the  least  alarm,  at  the  first  signal  from  you,  we 
shall  come  in." 

Don  Luis  reflected.  He  now  understood  how  the 
scoundrel  had  access  to  his  house,  and  how,  hidden  in  the 
safest  of  retreats,  he  was  able  to  escape  every  attempt  to 
find  him.  He  was  living  under  the  roof  of  the  very  man 
who  had  declared  himself  his  most  formidable  adversary. 

"Come  on,"  he  said  to  himself.  "The  fellow's  score 
is  settled  —  and  so  is  his  young  lady's.  They  can  choose 
between  the  bullets  in  my  revolver  and  the  handcuffs  of 
the  police." 

He  had  ceased  to  think  of  his  motor  standing  ready  be- 
low. He  no  longer  dreamt  of  flight  with  Florence.  If 
he  did  not  kill  the  two  of  them,  the  law  would  lay  its 
hand  upon  them,  the  hand  that  does  not  let  go.  And 
perhaps  it  was  better  so,  that  society  itself  should  punish 
the  two  criminals  whom  he  was  about  to  hand  over  to  it. 

He  shut  the  door,  pushed  the  bolt,  faced  his  two  pris- 
oners again  and,  taking  a  chair,  said  to  Sauverand: 


GASTON  SAUVERAND  EXPLAINS         225 

"Let  us  talk." 

Owing  to  the  narrow  dimensions  of  the  room  they  were 
all  so  close  together  that  Don  Luis  felt  as  if  he  were  almost 
touching  the  man  whom  he  loathed  from  the  very  bottom 
of  his  heart.  Their  two  chairs  were  hardly  a  yard  asunder. 
A  long  table,  covered  with  books,  stood  between  them 
and  the  windows,  which,  hollowed  out  of  the  very  thick 
wall,  formed  a  recess,  as  is  usual  in  old  houses. 

Florence  had  turned  her  chair  away  from  the  light, 
and  Don  Luis  could  not  see  her  face  clearly.  But  he 
looked  straight  into  Gaston  Sauverand's  face  and  watched 
it  with  eager  curiosity;  and  his  anger  was  heightened  by 
the  sight  of  the  still  youthful  features,  the  expressive 
mouth,  and  the  intelligent  eyes,  which  were  fine  in  spite 
of  their  hardness. 

"Well?  Speak!"  said  Don  Luis,  in  a  commanding 
tone.  "I  have  agreed  to  a  truce,  but  a  momentary  truce, 
just  long  enough  to  say  what  is  necessary.  Are  you 
afraid  now  that  the  time  has  arrived?  Do  you  regret 
the  step  which  you  have  taken?" 

The  man  smiled  calmly  and  said: 

"I  am  afraid  of  nothing,  and  I  do  not  regret  coming, 
for  I  have  a  very  strong  intuition  that  we  can,  that  we 
are  bound  to,  come  to  an  understanding." 

"An  understanding!"  protested  Don  Luis  with  a  start, 

"Why  not?" 

"A  compact!     An  alliance  between  you  and  me!" 

"Why  not?  It  is  a  thought  which  I  had  already  enter- 
tained more  than  once,  which  took  a  more  precise  shape 
in  the  magistrates'  corridor,  and  which  finally  decided 
me  when  I  read  the  announcement  which  you  caused  to 
be  made  in  the  special  edition  of  this  paper:  'Sensational 


226  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

declaration  by  Don  Luis  Perenna.  Mme.  Fauville  is 
innocent! " 

Gaston  Sauverand  half  rose  from  his  chair  and,  carefully 
picking  his  words,  emphasizing  them  with  sharp  gestures, 
he  whispered: 

"Everything  lies,  Monsieur,  in  those  four  words.  Do 
those  four  words  which  you  have  written,  which  you  have 
uttered  publicly  and  solemnly  — '  Mme.  Fauville  is  in- 
nocent' —  do  they  express  your  real  mind?  Do  you  now 
absolutely  believe  in  Marie  Fauville's  innocence?'* 

Don  Luis  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Mme.  Fauville's  innocence  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  case.  It  is  a  question  not  of  her,  but  of  you,  of  you 
two  and  myself.  So  come  straight  to  the  point  and  as 
quickly  as  you  can.  It  is  to  your  interest  even  more 
than  to  mine." 

"To  our  interest?" 

"You  forget  the  third  heading  to  the  article,"  cried 
Don  Luis.  "I  did  more  than  proclaim  Marie  Fauville's 
innocence.  I  also  announced  —  read  for  yourself  — 
The  'imminent  arrest  of  the  criminals." 

Sauverand  and  Florence  rose  together,  with  the  same 
unguarded  movement. 

"And,  in  your  view,  the  criminals  are ?"  asked 

Sauverand. 

"Why,  you  know  as  well  as  I  do:  they  are  the  man  with 
the  ebony  walking-stick,  who  at  any  rate  cannot  deny 
having  murdered  Chief  Inspector  Ancenis,  and  the  woman 
who  is  his  accomplice  in  all  his  crimes.  Both  of  them 
must  remember  their  attempts  to  assassinate  me:  the 
revolver  shot  on  the  Boulevard  Suchet;  the  motor  smash 
causing  the  death  of  my  chauffeur;  and  yesterday  again, 


GASTON  SAUVERAND  EXPLAINS         227 

in  the  barn  —  you  know  where  —  the  barn  with  the  two 
skeletons  hanging  from  the  rafters:  yesterday  —  you  re- 
member —  the  scythe,  the  relentless  scythe,  which  nearly 
beheaded  me." 

"And  then?" 

"Well,  then,  the  game  is  lost.  You  must  pay  up;  and 
all  the  more  so  as  you  have  foolishly  put  your  heads  into 
the  lion's  mouth." 

"I  don't  understand.     What  does  all  this  mean?" 

"It  simply  means  that  they  know  Florence  Levasseur, 
that  they  know  you  are  both  here,  that  the  house  is 
surrounded,  and  that  Weber,  the  deputy  chief  detective, 
is  on  his  way." 

Sauverand  appeared  disconcerted  by  this  unexpected 
threat.  Florence,  standing  beside  him,  had  turned 
livid.  A  mad  anguish  distorted  her  features.  She 
stammered : 

"Oh,  it  is  awful!     No,  no,  I  can't  endure  it!" 

And,  rushing  at  Don  Luis : 

"Coward!  Coward!  It's  you  who  are  betraying  us! 
Coward!  Oh,  I  knew  that  you  were  capable  of  the  mean- 
est treachery !  There  you  stand  like  an  executioner!  Oh, 
you  villain,  you  coward!" 

She  fell  into  her  chair,  exhausted  and  sobbing,  with  her 
hand  to  her  face. 

Don  Luis  turned  away.  Strange  to  say,  he  experienced 
no  sense  of  pity;  and  Florence's  tears  affected  him  no 
more  than  her  insults  had  done,  no  more  than  if  he  had 
never  loved  the  girl.  He  was  glad  of  this  release.  The 
horror  with  which  she  filled  him  had  killed  his  love. 

But,  when  he  once  more  stood  in  front  of  them  after 
taking  a  few  steps  across  the  room,  he  saw  that  they  were 


THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

holding  each  other's  hands,  like  two  friends  in  distress, 
trying  to  give  each  other  courage;  and,  again  yielding  to 
a  sudden  impulse  of  hatred,  for  a  moment  beside  himself, 
he  gripped  the  man's  arm: 

"I  forbid  you By  what  right ?  Is  she  your 

wife?  Your  mistress?  Then " 

His  voice  became  perplexed.  He  himself  felt  the 
strangeness  of  that  fit  of  anger  which  suddenly  revealed, 
in  all  its  force  and  all  its  blindness,  a  passion  which  he 
thought  dead.  And  he  blushed,  for  Gaston  Sauverand 
was  looking  at  him  in  amazement;  and  he  did  not  doubt 
that  the  enemy  had  penetrated  his  secret. 

A  long  pause  followed,  during  which  he  met  Florence's 
eyes,  hostile  eyes,  full  of  rebellion  and  disdain.  Had  she, 
too,  guessed? 

He  dared  not  speak  another  word.  He  waited  for 
Sauverand's  explanation.  And,  while  waiting,  he  gave 
not  a  thought  to  the  coming  revelations,  nor  to  the  tre- 
mendous problems  of  which  he  was  at  last  about  to  know 
the  solution,  nor  to  the  tragic  events  at  hand. 

He  thought  of  one  thing  only,  thought  of  it  with  the 
fevered  throbbing  of  his  whole  being,  thought  of  what  he 
was  on  the  point  of  learning  about  Florence,  about  the 
girl's  affections,  about  her  past,  about  her  love  for  Sauve- 
rand. That  alone  interested  him. 

"Very  well,"  said  Sauverand.  "I  am  caught  in  a  trap. 
Pate  must  take  its  course.  Nevertheless,  can  I  speak 
to  you?  It  is  the  only  wish  that  remains  to  me." 

"Speak,"  replied  Don  Luis.  "The  door  is  locked.  I 
shall  not  open  it  until  I  think  fit.  Speak." 

"I  shall  be  brief,"  said  Gaston  Sauverand.  "For  one 
thing,  what  I  can  tell  you  is  not  much,  I  do  not  ask 


GASTON  SAUVERAND  EXPLAINS 

you  to  believe  it,  but  to  listen  to  it  as  if  I  were  possibly 
telling  the  truth,  the  whole  truth." 

And  he  expressed  himself  in  the  following  words: 

"I  never  met  Hippolyte  and  Marie  Fauville,  though 
I  used  to  correspond  with  them  —  you  will  remembei 
that  we  were  all  cousins  —  until  five  years  ago,  when 
chance  brought  us  together  at  Palmero.  They  were  pass* 
ing  the  winter  there  while  their  new  house  on  the  Boule- 
vard Suchet  was  being  built. 

"We  spent  five  months  at  Palmero,  seeing  one  anothex 
daily.  Hippolyte  and  Marie  were  not  on  the  best  of  terms. 
One  evening  after  they  had  been  quarrelling  more  vio- 
lently than  usual  I  found  her  crying.  Her  tears  upset 
me  and  I  could  not  longer  conceal  my  secret.  I  had  loved 
Marie  from  the  first  moment  when  we  met.  I  was  to 
love  her  always  and  to  love  her  more  and  more." 

"You  lie!"  cried  Don  Luis,  losing  his  self-restraint. 
"I  saw  the  two  of  you  yesterday  in  the  train  that  brought 
you  back  from  Alengon  — 

Gaston  Sauverand  looked  at  Florence.  She  sat  silent, 
with  her  hands  to  her  face  and  her  elbows  on  her  knees. 
Without  replying  to  Don  Luis's  exclamation,  he  went  on: 

"Marie  also  loved  me.  She  admitted  it,  but  made  me 
swear  that  I  would  never  try  to  obtain  from  her  more  than 
the  purest  friendship  would  allow.  I  kept  my  oath.  We 
enjoyed  a  few  weeks  of  incomparable  happiness.  Hippo- 
lyte Fauville,  who  had  become  enamoured  of  a  music-hall 
singer,  was  often  away. 

"I  took  a  good  deal  of  trouble  with  the  physical  train- 
ing of  the  little  boy  Edmond,  whose  health  was  not  what 
it  should  be.  And  we  also  had  with  us,  between  us,  the 
best  of  friends,  the  most  devoted  and  affectionate  COUD- 


230  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

seller,  who  staunched  our  wounds,  kept  up  our  courage-, 
restored  our  gayety,and  bestowed  some  of  her  own  strength 
and  dignity  upon  our  love.  Florence  was  there." 

Don  Luis  felt  his  heart  beating  faster.  Not  that  he 
attached  the  least  credit  to  Gaston  Sauverand's  words;  but 
he  had  every  hope  of  arriving,  through  those  words,  at  the 
real  truth.  Perhaps,  also,  he  was  unconsciously  undergoing 
the  influence  of  Gaston  Sauverand,  whose  apparent  frank- 
ness and  sincerity  of  tone  caused  him  a  certain  surprise. 

Sauverand  continued: 

"Fifteen  years  before,  my  elder  brother,  Raoul  Sauve- 
rand, had  picked  up  at  Buenos  Aires,  where  he  had  gone 
to  live,  a  little  girl,  the  orphan  daughter  of  some  friends. 
At  his  death  he  entrusted  the  child,  who  was  then  four- 
teen, to  an  old  nurse  who  had  brought  me  up  and  who 
had  accompanied  my  brother  to  South  America.  The  old 
nurse  brought  the  child  to  me  and  herself  died  of  an  acci- 
dent a  few  days  after  her  arrival  in  France.  ...  I 
took  the  little  girl  to  Italy  to  friends,  where  she  worked 
and  studied  and  became  —  what  she  is. 

"Wishing  to  live  by  her  own  resources,  she  accepted  a 
position  as  teacher  in  a  family.  Later  I  recommended 
her  to  my  Fauville  cousins  with  whom  I  found  her  at 
Palmero  as  governess  to  the  boy  Edrnond  and  especially 
as  the  friend,  the  dear  and  devoted  friend,  of  Marie  Fau- 
ville. .  .  .  She  was  mine,  also,  at  that  happy  time, 
which  was  so  sunny  and  all  too  short.  Our  happiness, 
in  fact  —  the  happiness  of  all  three  of  us  —  was  to  be 
wrecked  in  the  most  sudden  and  tantalizing  fashion. 

"Every  evening  I  used  to  write  in  a  diary  the  daily 
life  of  my  love,  an  uneventful  life,  without  hope  or  future 
before  it,  but  eager  and  radiant.  Marie  Fauville  was 


GASTON  SAUVERAND  EXPLAINS 

extolled  in  it  as  a  goddess.  Kneeling  down  to  write,  I 
sang  litanies  of  her  beauty,  and  I  also  used  to  invent,  as 
a  poor  compensation,  wholly  imaginary  scenes,  in  which 
she  said  all  the  things  which  she  might  have  said  but  did 
not,  and  promised  me  all  the  happiness  which  we  had 
voluntarily  renounced. 

"Hippolyte  Fauville  found  the  diary.  .  .  .  His 
anger  was  something  terrible.  His  first  impulse  was  to 
get  rid  of  Marie.  But  in  the  face  of  his  wife's  attitude, 
of  the  proofs  of  her  innocence  which  she  supplied,  of  her 
inflexible  refusal  to  consent  to  a  divorce,  and  of  her  promise 
never  to  see  me  again,  he  recovered  his  calmness.  .  .  . 
I  left,  with  death  in  my  soul.  Florence  left,  too,  dismissed. 
And  never,  mark  me,  never,  since  that  fatal  hour,  did  I 
exchange  a  single  word  with  Marie.  But  an  indestructible 
love  united  us,  a  love  which  neither  absence  nor  time  was 
to  weaken." 

He  stopped  for  a  moment,  as  though  to  read  in  Don  Luis's 
face  the  effect  produced  by  his  story.  Don  Luis  did  not 
conceal  his  anxious  attention.  What  astonished  him 
most  was  Gaston  Sauverand's  extraordinary  calmness, 
the  peaceful  expression  of  his  eyes,  the  quiet  ease  with 
which  he  set  forth,  without  hurrying,  almost  slowly  and 
so  very  simply,  the  story  of  that  family  tragedy. 

"What  an  actor!"  he  thought. 

And  as  he  thought  it,  he  remembered  that  Marie  Fau- 
ville had  given  him  the  same  impression.  Was  he  then 
to  hark  back  to  his  first  conviction  and  believe  Marie 
guilty,  a  dissembler  like  her  accomplice,  a  dissembler  like 
Florence?  Or  was  he  to  attribute  a  certain  honesty  to 
that  man? 

He  asked: 


232  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"And  afterward?" 

"Afterward  I  travelled  about.  I  resumed  my  life  of 
work  and  pursued  my  studies  wherever  I  went,  in  my 
bedroom  at  the  hotels,  and  in  the  public  laboratories  of 
the  big  towns." 

"And  Mme.  Fauville?" 

"She  lived  in  Paris  in  her  new  house.  Neither  she 
nor  her  husband  ever  referred  to  the  past." 

"How  do  you  know?     Did  she  write  to  you?" 

"No.  Marie  is  a  woman  who  does  not  do  her  duty 
by  halves;  and  her  sense  of  duty  is  strict  to  excess.  She 
never  wrote  to  me.  But  Florence,  who  had  accepted  a 
place  as  secretary  and  reader  to  Count  Malonyi,  your 
predecessor  in  this  house,  used  often  to  receive  Marie's 
visits  in  her  lodge  downstairs. 

"They  did  not  speak  of  me  once,  did  they,  Florence? 
Marie  would  not  have  allowed  it.  But  all  her  life  and 
all  her  soul  were  nothing  but  love  and  passionate  memo- 
ries. Isn't  that  so,  Florence? 

"At  last,"  he  went  on  slowly,  "weary  of  being  so  far 
away  from  her,  I  returned  to  Paris.  That  was  our  un- 
doing. ...  It  was  about  a  year  ago.  I  took  a  flat 
in  the  Avenue  du  Roule  and  went  to  it  in  the  greatest 
secrecy,  so  that  Hippolyte  Fauville  might  not  know  of  my 
return.  I  was  afraid  of  disturbing  Marie's  peace  of  mind. 
Florence  alone  knew,  and  came  to  see  me  from  time  to 
time.  I  went  out  little,  only  after  dark,  and  in  the  most 
secluded  parts  of  the  Bois.  But  it  happened  —  for  our 
most  heroic  resolutions  sometimes  fail  us  —  one  Wednes- 
day night,  at  about  eleven  o'clock,  my  steps  led  me  to 
the  Boulevard  Suchet,  without  my  noticing  it,  and  I  went 
past  Marie's  house. 


GASTON  SAUVERAND  EXPLAINS         233 

"It  was  a  warm  and  fine  night  and,  as  luck  would  have 
it,  Marie  was  at  her  window.  She  saw  me,  I  was  sure 
of  it,  and  knew  me;  and  my  happiness  was  so  great  that 
my  legs  shook  under  me  as  I  walked  away. 

"After  that  I  passed  in  front  of  her  house  every  Wednes- 
day evening;  and  Marie  was  nearly  always  there,  giving 
me  this  unhoped-for  and  ever-new  delight,  in  spite  of 
the  fact  that  her  social  duties,  her  quite  natural  love  of 
amusement,  and  her  husband's  position  obliged  her  to  go 
out  a  great  deal." 

"  Quick !  Why  can't  you  hurry?  "  said  Don  Luis,  urged 
by  his  longing  to  know  more.  "Look  sharp  and  come 
to  the  facts.  Speak!"  % 

He  had  become  suddenly  afraid  lest  he  should  not  hear 
the  remainder  of  the  explanation;  and  he  suddenly  per- 
ceived that  Gaston  Sauverand's  words  were  making  their 
way  into  his  mind  as  words  that  were  perhaps  not  un- 
true. Though  he  strove  to  fight  against  them,  they 
were  stronger  than  his  prejudices  and  triumphed  over  his 
arguments. 

The  fact  is,  that  deep  down  in  his  soul,  tortured  with 
love  and  jealousy,  there  was  something  that  disposed 
him  to  believe  this  man  in  whom  hitherto  he  had  seen 
only  a  hated  rival,  and  who  was  so  loudly  proclaiming,  in 
Florence's  very  presence,  his  love  for  Marie. 

"Hurry!"  he  repeated.     "Every  minute  is  precious!  " 

Sauverand  shook  his  head. 

"I  shall  not  hurry.  All  my  words  were  carefully 
thought  out  before  I  decided  to  speak.  Every  one  of 
them  is  essential.  Not  one  of  them  can  be  omitted, 
for  you  will  find  the  solution  of  the  problem  not  in  facts 
presented  anyhow,  separated  one  from  the  other,  but  in 


234  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

the  concatenation  of  the  facts,  and  in  a  story  told  as  faith- 
fully as  possible." 

"Why?     I  don't  understand." 

"Because  the  truth  lies  hidden  in  that  story." 

"But  that  truth  is  your  innocence,  isn't  it?" 

"It  is  Marie's  innocence." 

"But  I  don't  dispute  it!" 

"What  is  the  use  of  that  if  you  can't  prove  it?" 

"Exactly!     It's  for  you  to  give  me  proofs." 

"I  have  none." 

"What!" 

"I  tell  you,  I  have  no  proof  of  what  I  am  asking  you 
to  believe." 

"Then  I  shall  not  believe  it!"  cried  Don  Luis  angrily. 
"No,  and  again  no!  Unless  you  supply  me  with  the  most 
convincing  proofs,  I  shall  refuse  to  believe  a  single  word 
of  what  you  are  going  to  tell  me." 

"You  have  believed  everything  that  I  have  told  you 
so  far,"  Sauverand  retorted  very  simply. 

Don  Luis  offered  no  denial.  He  turned  his  eyes  to 
Florence  Levasseur;  and  it  seemed  to  him  that  she  was 
looking  at  him  with  less  aversion,  and  as  though  she  were 
wishing  with  all  her  might  that  he  would  not  resist  the 
impressions  that  were  forcing  themselves  upon  him.  He 
muttered : 

"Go  on  with  your  story." 

And  there  was  something  really  strange  about  the  atti- 
tude of  those  two  men,  one  making  his  explanation  in 
precise  terms  and  in  such  a  way  as  to  give  every  word  its 
full  value,  the  other  listening  attentively  and  weighing 
every  one  of  those  words;  both  controlling  their  excite- 
ment; both  as  calm  in  appearance  as  though  they  were 


GASTON  SAUVERAND  EXPLAINS        235 

seeking  the  philosophical  solution  in  a  case  of  conscience. 
What  was  going  on  outside  did  not  matter.  What  was 
to  happen  presently  did  not  count. 

Before  all,  whatever  the  consequences  of  their  inactivity 
at  this  moment  when  the  circle  of  the  police  was  closing 
in  around  them,  before  all  it  was  necessary  that  one  should 
speak  and  the  other  listen. 

"We  are  coming,"  said  Sauverand,  in  his  grave  voice, 
"we  are  coming  to  the  most  important  events,  to  those 
of  which  the  interpretation,  which  is  new  to  you,  but 
strictly  true,  will  make  you  believe  in  our  good  faith. 
Ill  luck  having  brought  me  across  Hippolyte  Fauville's 
path  in  the  course  of  one  of  my  walks  in  the  Bois,  I  took 
the  precaution  of  changing  my  abode  and  went  to  live  in 
the  little  house  on  the  Boulevard  Richard- Wallace,  where 
Florence  came  to  see  me  several  times. 

"  I  was  even  careful  to  keep  her  visits  a  secret  and,  more- 
overgo  refrain  from  corresponding  with  her  except  through 
the  poste  restante.  I  was  therefore  quite  easy  in  my  mind. 

"I  worked  in  perfect  solitude  and  in  complete  security. 
I  expected  nothing.  No  danger,  no  possibility  of  danger, 
threatened  us.  And,  I  may  say,  to  use  a  commonplace  but 
rery  accurate  expression,  that  what  happened  came  as  an 
absolute  bolt  from  the  blue.  I  heard  at  the  same  time, 
when  the  Prefect  of  Police  and  his  men  broke  into  my 
house  and  proceeded  to  arrest  me,  I  heard  at  the  same 
time  and  for  the  first  time  of  the  murder  of  Hippolyte 
Fauville,  the  murder  of  Edmond,  and  the  arrest  of  my 
adored  Marie." 

"Impossible!"  cried  Don  Luis,  in  a  renewed  tone  of 
aggressive  wrath.  "Impossible!  Those  facts  were  a  fort- 
night old.  I  cannot  allow  that  you  had  not  heard  of  them." 


236  THE  TEETH  OP  THE  TIGER 

"Through  whom?" 

"Through  the  papers,"  exclaimed  Don  Luis.  "And, 
more  certainly  still,  through  Mile.  Levasseur." 

"Through  the  papers?"  said  Sauverand.  "I  never 
used  to  read  them.  What!  Is  that  incredible?  Are  we 
under  an  obligation,  an  inevitable  necessity,  to  waste 
half  an  hour  a  day  in  skimming  through  the  futilities  of 
politics  and  the  piffle  of  the  news  columns?  Is  your 
imagination  incapable  of  conceiving  a  man  who  reads 
nothing  but  reviews  and  scientific  publications? 

"The  fact  is  rare,  I  admit,"  he  continued.  "But  the 
rarity  of  a  fact  is  no  proof  against  it.  On  the  other  hand, 
on  the  very  morning  of  the  crime  I  had  written  to  Florence 
saying  that  I  was  going  away  for  three  weeks  and  bidding 
her  good-bye.  I  changed  my  mind  at  the  last  moment; 
but  this  she  did  not  know;  and,  thinking  that  I  had 
gone,  not  knowing  where  I  was,  she  was  unable  to  in- 
form me  of  the  crime,  of  Marie's  arrest,  or,  later,  when 
an  accusation  was  brought  against  the  man  with  the 
ebony  walking-stick,  of  the  search  that  was  being  made 
for  me." 

*  *  Exactly ! ' '  declared  Don  Luis .  "  You  cannot  pretend 
that  the  man  with  the  ebony  walking-stick,  the  man  who 
followed  Inspector  Verot  to  the  Cafe  du  Pont-Neuf  and 
purloined  his  letter " 

"I  am  not  the  man,"  Sauverand  interrupted. 

And,  when  Don  Luis  shrugged  his  shoulders,  he  in- 
sisted, in  a  more  forcible  tone  of  voice: 

"I  am  not  that  man.  There  is  some  inexplicable  mis- 
take in  all  this,  but  I  have  never  set  foot  in  the  Cafe  du 
Pont-Neuf.  I  swear  it.  You  must  accept  this  statement 
as  positively  true.  Besides,  it  agrees  entirely  with  the 


GASTON  SAUVERAND  EXPLAINS         237 

retired  life  which  I  was  leading  from  necessity  and  from 
choice.  And,  I  repeat,  I  knew  nothing. 

"The  thunderbolt  was  unexpected.  And  it  was  pre- 
cisely for  this  reason,  you  must  understand,  that  the  shock 
produced  in  me  an  equally  unexpected  reaction,  a  state 
of  mind  diametrically  opposed  to  my  real  nature,  an 
outburst  of  my  most  savage  and  primitive  instincts. 
Remember,  Monsieur,  that  they  had  laid  hands  upon 
what  to  me  was  the  most  sacred  thing  on  earth.  Marie 
was  in  prison.  Marie  was  accused  of  committing  two 
murders!  ...  I  went  mad. 

"At  first  controlling  myself,  playing  a  part  with  the 
Prefect  of  Police,  then  overthrowing  every  obstacle,  shoot- 
ing Chief  Inspector  Ancenis,  shaking  off  Sergeant  Maze- 
roux,  jumping  from  the  window,  I  had  only  one  thought 
in  my  head  —  that  of  escape.  Once  free,  I  should  save 
Marie.  Were  there  people  in  my  way?  So  much  the 
worse  for  them. 

"By  what  right  did  those  people  dare  to  attack  the 
most  blameless  of  women?  I  killed  only  one  man  that 
day!  I  would  have  killed  ten!  I  would  have  killed 
twenty!  What  was  Chief  Inspector  Ancenis's  life  to  me? 
What  cared  I  for  the  lives  of  any  of  those  wretches? 
They  stood  between  Marie  and  myself;  and  Marie  was 
in  prison!" 

Gaston  Sauverand  made  an  effort  which  contracted 
every  muscle  of  his  face  to  recover  the  coolness  that  was 
gradually  leaving  him.  He  succeeded  in  doing  so,  but 
his  voice,  nevertheless,  remained  tremulous,  and  the  fever 
with  which  he  was  consumed  shook  his  frame  in  a  manner 
which  he  was  unable  to  conceal. 

He  continued: 


THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"At  the  corner  of  the  street  down  which  I  turned  after 
outdistancing  the  Prefect's  men  on  the  Boulevard  Richard- 
Wallace,  Florence  saved  me  just  as  I  believed  that  all  was 
lost.  Florence  had  known  everything  for  a  fortnight  past. 
She  learnt  the  news  of  the  double  murder  from  the  papers, 
those  papers  which  she  used  to  read  out  to  you,  and 
which  you  discussed  with  her.  And  it  was  by  being  with 
you,  by  listening  to  you,  that  she  acquired  the  opinion 
which  everything  that  happened  tended  to  confirm:  the 
opinion  that  Marie's  enemy,  her  only  enemy,  was  your- 
self." 

"But  why?     Why?" 

"Because  she  saw  you  at  work,"  exclaimed  Sauverand, 
"because  it  was  more  to  your  interest  than  to  that  of 
any  one  else  that  first  Marie  and  then  I  should  not 
come  between  you  and  the  Mornington  inheritance,  and 
lastly " 

"What?" 

Gaston  Sauverand  hesitated  and  then  said,  plainly: 

"Lastly,  because  she  knew  your  real  name  beyond  a 
doubt,  and  because  she  felt  that  Arsene  Lupin  was  capable 
of  anything." 

They  were  both  silent;  and  their  silence,  at  such  a 
moment,  was  impressive  to  a  degree.  Florence  remained 
impassive  under  Don  Luis  Perenna's  gaze;  and  he  was 
unable  to  discern  on  her  sealed  face  any  of  the  feelings 
with  which  she  must  needs  be  stirred. 

Gaston  Sauverand  continued: 

"  It  was  against  Arsene  Lupin,  therefore,  that  Florence, 
Marie's  terrified  friend,  engaged  in  the  struggle.  It  was 
to  unmask  Lupin  that  she  wrote  or  rather  inspired  the 
article  of  which  you  found  the  original  in  a  ball  of  string 


GASTON  SAUVERAND  EXPLAINS         239 

It  was  Lupin  whom  she  spied  upon,  day  by  day,  in  this 
house.  It  was  Lupin  whom  she  heard  one  morning  tele- 
phoning to  Sergeant  Mazeroux  and  rejoicing  in  my  immi- 
nent arrest.  It  was  to  save  me  from  Lupin  that  she  let 
down  the  iron  curtain  in  front  of  him,  at  the  risk  of  an 
accident,  and  took  a  taxi  to  the  corner  of  the  Boulevard 
Richard- Wallace,  where  she  arrived  too  late  to  warn  me, 
as  the  detectives  had  already  entered  my  house,  but  in 
lime  to  screen  me  from  their  pursuit. 

"Her  mistrust  and  terror-stricken  hatred  of  you  were 
told  to  me  in  an  instant,"  Sauverand  declared.  "During 
the  twenty  minutes  which  we  employed  in  throwing  our 
assailants  off  the  scent,  she  hurriedly  sketched  the  main 
lines  of  the  business  and  described  to  me  in  a  few  words 
the  leading  part  which  you  were  playing  in  it;  and  we 
then  and  there  prepared  a  counter-attack  upon  you,  so 
that  you  might  be  suspected  of  complicity. 

"While  I  was  sending  a  message  to  the  Prefect  of  Police, 
Florence  went  home  and  hid  under  the  cushions  of  your 
sofa  the  end  of  the  stick  which  I  had  kept  in  my  hand 
without  thinking.  It  was  an  ineffective  parry  and  missed 
its  aim.  But  the  fight  had  begun;  and  I  threw  myself 
into  it  headlong. 

"Monsieur,  to  understand  my  actions  thoroughly,  you 
must  remember  that  I  was  a  student,  a  man  leading  a « 
solitary  life,  but  also  an  ardent  lover.  I  would  have 
spent  all  my  life  in  work,  asking  no  more  from  fate  than 
to  see  Marie  at  her  window  from  time  to  time  at  night. 
But,  once  she  was  being  persecuted,  another  man  arose 
within  me,  a  man  of  action,  bungling,  certainly,  and  in- 
experienced, but  a  man  who  was  ready  to  stick  at  nothing, 
and  who,  not  knowing  how  to  save  Marie  Fauville,  had 


240  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

no  other  object  before  him  than  to  do  away  with  thai 
enemy  of  Marie's  to  whom  he  was  entitled  to  ascribe  all 
the  misfortunes  that  had  befallen  the  woman  he  loved. 
.  .  .  This  started  the  series  of  my  attempts  upon  your 
life.  Brought  into  your  house,  concealed  in  Florence's 
own  rooms,  I  tried  —  unknown  to  her:  that  I  swear  —  to 
poison  you." 

He  paused  for  an  instant  to  mark  the  effect  of  his  words, 
then  went  on: 

"Her  reproaches,  her  abhorrence  of  such  an  act,  would 
perhaps  have  moved  me,  but,  I  repeat,  I  was  mad,  quite 
mad;  and  your  death  seemed  to  me  to  imply  Marie's 
safety.  And,  one  morning,  on  the  Boulevard  Suchet, 
where  I  had  followed  you,  I  fired  a  revolver  at  you. 

"  The  same  evening  your  motor  car,  tampered  with  by 
myself  —  remember,  Florence's  rooms  are  close  to  the 
garage  —  carried  you,  I  hoped,  to  your  death,  together 
with  Sergeant  Mazeroux,  your  confederate.  .  .  .  That 
time  again  you  escaped  my  vengeance.  But  an  innocent 
man,  the  chauffeur  who  drove  you,  paid  for  you  with  his 
life;  and  Florence's  despair  was  such  that  I  had  to  yield  to 
her  entreaties  and  lay  down  my  arms. 

"I  myself,  terrified  by  what  I  had  done,  shattered  by 
the  remembrance  of  my  two  victims,  changed  my  plans 
and  thought  only  of  saving  Marie  by  contriving  her  escape 
from  prison.  .  .  . 

"I  am  a  rich  man.  I  lavished  money  upon  Marie's 
warders,  without,  however,  revealing  my  intentions.  I 
entered  into  relations  with  the  prison  tradesmen  and  the 
staff  of  the  infirmary.  And  every  day,  having  procured 
a  card  of  admission  as  a  law  reporter,  I  went  to  the  law 
courts,  to  the  examining  magistrates'  corridor,  w^ere  I 


GASTON  SAUVERAND  EXPLAINS         241 

hoped  to  meet  Marie,  to  encourage  her  with  a  look,  a 
gesture,  perhaps  to  slip  a  few  words  of  comfort  into  her 
hand.  .  .  ." 

Sauverand  moved  closer  to  Don  Luis. 

"Her  martyrdom  continued.  You  struck  her  a  most 
terrible  blow  with  that  mysterious  business  of  Hippolyte 
Fauville's  letters.  What  did  those  letters  mean?  Where 
did  they  come  from?  Were  we  not  entitled  to  attribute 
the  whole  plot  to  you,  to  you  who  introduced  them  into 
the  horrible  struggle? 

"  Florence  watched  you,  I  may  say,  night  and  day.  We 
sought  for  a  clue,  a  glimmer  of  light  in  the  darkness, 
.  .  .  Well,  yesterday  morning,  Florence  saw  Sergeant 
Mazeroux  arrive.  She  could  not  overhear  what  he  said 
to  you,  but  she  caught  the  name  of  a  certain  Langernault 
and  the  name  of  Damigni,  the  village  where  Langernault 
lived.  She  remembered  that  old  friend  of  Hippolyte 
Fauville's.  Were  the  letters  not  addressed  to  him  and 
was  it  not  in  search  of  him  that  you  were  going  off  in  the 
motor  with  Sergeant  Mazeroux?  .  .  . 

"Half  an  hour  later  we  were  in  the  train  for  Alengon. 
A  carriage  took  us  from  the  station  to  just  outside  Dam- 
igni, where  we  made  our  inquiries  with  every  possibly 
precaution.  On  learning  what  you  must  also  know,  that 
Langernault  was  dead,  we  resolved  to  visit  his  place,  and 
we  had  succeeded  in  effecting  an  entrance  when  Florence 
saw  you  in  the  grounds.  Wishing  at  all  costs  to  avoid  a 
meeting  between  you  and  myself,  she  dragged  me  across 
the  lawn  and  behind  the  bushes.  You  followed  us,  how- 
ever, and  when  a  barn  appeared  in  sight  she  pushed  one 
of  the  doors  which  half  opened  and  let  us  through.  We 
managed  to  slip  quickly  through  the  lumber  in  the  dart 


242  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

and  knocked  up  against  a  ladder.  This  we  climbed  and 
reached  a  loft  in  which  we  took  shelter.  You  entered 
at  that  moment.  .  .  . 

"You  know  the  rest:  how  you  discovered  the  two  hang- 
ing skeletons;  how  your  attention  was  drawn  to  us  by  an 
imprudent  movement  of  Florence;  your  attack,  to  which 
I  replied  by  brandishing  the  first  weapon  with  which 
chance  provided  me;  lastly,  our  flight  through  the  window 
in  the  roof,  under  the  fire  of  your  revolver.  We  were 
free.  But  in  the  evening,  in  the  train,  Florence  fainted. 
While  bringing  her  to  I  perceived  that  one  of  your  bullets 
had  wounded  her  in  the  shoulder.  The  wound  was  slight 
and  did  not  hurt  her,  but  it  was  enough  to  increase  the 
extreme  tension  of  her  nerves.  When  you  saw  us  —  at 
Le  Mans  station  wasn't  it?  —  she  was  asleep,  with  her 
head  on  my  shoulder." 

Don  Luis  had  not  once  interrupted  the  latter  part  of 
this  narrative,  which  was  told  in  a  more  and  more  agi- 
tated voice  and  quickened  by  an  accent  of  profound  truth. 
Thanks  to  a  superhuman  effort  of  attention,  he  noted 
Sauverand's  least  words  and  actions  in  his  mind.  And 
as  these  words  were  uttered  and  these  actions  performed, 
he  received  the  impression  of  another  woman  who  rose 
up  beside  the  real  Florence,  a  woman  unspotted  and  in- 
nocent of  all  the  shame  which  he  had  attributed  to  her 
on  the  strength  of  events. 

Nevertheless,  he  did  not  yet  give  in.  How  could 
Florence  possibly  be  innocent?  No,  no,  the  evidence  of 
his  eyes,  which  had  seen,  and  the  evidence  of  his  reason, 
which  had  judged,  both  rebelled  against  any  such  con- 
tention. 

He  would  not  admit  that  Florence  could  suddenly  be 


GASTON  SAUVERAND  EXPLAINS         243 

different  from  what  she  really  was  to  him:  a  crafty,  cun- 
ning, cruel,  blood-thirsty  monster.  No,  no,  the  man  was 
lying  with  infernal  cleverness.  He  put  things  with  a 
skill  amounting  to  genius,  until  it  was  no  longer  possible 
to  differentiate  between  the  false  and  the  true,  or  to  dis- 
tinguish the  light  from  the  darkness. 

He  was  lying!  He  was  lying!  And  yet  how  sweet 
were  the  lies  he  told !  How  beautiful  was  that  imaginary 
Florence,  the  Florence  compelled  by  destiny  to  commit 
acts  which  she  loathed,  but  free  of  all  crime,  free  of  re- 
morse, humane  and  pitiful,  with  her  clear  eyes  and  her 
snow-white  hands!  And  how  good  it  was  to  yield  to 
this  fantastic  dream! 

Gaston  Sauverand  was  watching  the  face  of  his  former 
enemy.  Standing  close  to  Don  Luis,  his  features  lit  up 
with  the  expression  of  feelings  and  passions  which  he  no 
longer  strove  to  check,  he  asked,  in  a  low  voice: 

"You  believe  me,  don't  you?" 

"No,  I  don't,"  said  Perenna,  hardening  himself  to 
resist  the  man's  influence. 

"You  must!"  cried  Sauverand,  with  a  fierce  outburst 
of  violence.  "You  must  believe  in  the  strength  of  my 
love.  It  is  the  cause  of  everything.  My  hatred  for  you 
comes  only  from  my  love.  Marie  is  my  life.  If  she  were 
dead,  there  would  be  nothing  for  me  to  do  but  die.  Oh, 
this  morning,  when  I  read  in  the  papers  that  the  poor 
woman  had  opened  her  veins  —  and  through  your  fault, 
after  Hippolyte's  letters  accusing  her  —  I  did  not  want 
to  kill  you  so  much  as  to  inflict  upon  you  the  most  bar- 
barous tortures !  My  poor  Marie,  what  a  martyrdom  she 
must  be  enduring!  .  .  . 

"As  you  were  not  back,  Florence  and  I  wandered 


244  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

about  all  morning  to  have  news  of  her:  first  around  the 
prison,  next  to  the  police  office  and  the  law  courts.  And 
it  was  there,  in  the  magistrates'  corridor,  that  I  saw  you. 
At  that  moment  you  were  mentioning  Marie  Fauville's 
name  to  a  number  of  journalists;  and  you  told  them  that 
Marie  Fauville  was  innocent;  and  you  informed  them  of 
the  evidence  which  you  possessed  in  Marie's  favour! 

"My  hatred  ceased  then  and  there,  Monsieur.  In  one 
second  the  enemy  had  become  the  ally,  the  master  to 
whom  one  kneels.  So  you  had  had  the  wonderful  courage 
to  repudiate  all  your  work  and  to  devote  yourself  to 
Marie's  rescue!  I  ran  off,  trembling  with  joy  and  hope, 
and,  as  I  joined  Florence,  I  shouted,  'Marie  is  saved! 
He  proclaims  her  innocent!  I  must  see  him  and  speak 
to  him!'  .  .  . 

"We  came  back  here.  Florence  refused  to  lay  down 
her  arms  and  begged  me  not  to  carry  out  my  plan  before 
your  new  attitude  in  the  case  was  confirmed  by  deeds. 
I  promised  everything  that  she  asked.  But  my  mind 
was  made  up.  And  my  will  was  still  further  strengthened 
when  I  had  read  your  declaration  in  the  newspaper.  I 
would  place  Marie's  fate  in  your  hands  whatever  hap- 
pened and  without  an  hour's  delay,  I  waited  for  your 
return  and  came  up  here." 

He  was  no  longer  the  same  man  who  had  displayed  such 
coolness  at  the  commencement  of  the  interview.  Ex- 
hausted by  his  efforts  and  by  a  struggle  that  had  lasted 
for  weeks,  costing  him  so  much  fruitless  energy,  he  was 
now  trembling;  and  clinging  to  Don  Luis,  with  one  of 
his  knees  on  the  chair  beside  which  Don  Luis  was  stand- 
ing, he  stammered: 

"Save  her,  I  implore  you!     You  have  it  in  your  power. 


GASTON  SATJVERAND  EXPLAINS         245 

Yes,  you  can  do  anything.  I  learnt  to  know  you  in 
fighting  you.  There  was  more  than  your  genius  defend- 
ing you  against  me;  there  is  a  luck  that  protects  you. 
You  are  different  from  other  men.  Why,  the  mere  fact 
of  your  not  killing  me  at  once,  though  I  had  pursued  you 
so  savagely,  the  fact  of  your  listenir^  to  the  inconceivable 
truth  of  the  innocence  of  all  three  of  us  and  accepting  it 
as  admissible,  surely  these  constitute  an  unprecedented 
miracle. 

"While  I  was  waiting  for  you  and  preparing  to  speak 
to  you,  I  received  an  intuition  of  it  all ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  I 
saw  clearly  that  the  man  who  was  proclaiming  Marie's 
innocence  with  nothing  to  guide  him  but  his  reason,  I  saw 
that  this  man  alone  could  save  her  and  that  he  would 
save  her.  Ah,  I  beseech  you,  save  her  —  and  save  her  at 
once.  Otherwise  it  will  be  too  late. 

"In  a  few  days  Marie  will  have  ended  her  life.  She 
cannot  go  on  living  in  prison.  You  see,  she  means  to 
die.  No  obstacle  can  prevent  her.  Can  any  one  be 
prevented  from  committing  suicide?  And  how  horrible 
if  she  were  to  die!  .  .  .  Oh,  if  the  law  requires  a 
criminal  I  will  confess  anything  that  I  am  asked  to.  I 
will  joyfully  accept  every  charge  and  pay  every  penalty, 
provided  that  Marie  is  free!  Save  her!  ...  I  did 
not  know,  I  do  not  yet  know  the  best  thing  to  be  done ! 
Save  her  from  prison  and  death,  save  her,  for  God's  sake, 
save  her ! " 

Tears  flowed  down  his  anguish-stricken  face.  Florence 
also  was  crying,  bowed  down  with  sorrow.  And  Perenna 
suddenly  felt  the  most  terrible  dread  steal  over  him. 

Although,  ever  since  the  beginning  of  the  interview,  a 
fresh  conviction  had  gradually  been  mastering  him,  it 


246  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

was  only  as  it  were  a  glance  that  he  became  aware  of  it 
Suddenly  he  perceived  that  his  belief  in  Sauverand's 
words  was  unrestricted,  and  that  Florence  was  perhaps 
not  the  loathsome  creature  that  he  had  had  the  right  to 
think,  but  a  woman  whose  eyes  did  not  lie  and  whose 
face  and  soul  were  alike  beautiful. 

Suddenly  he  learnt  that  the  two  people  before  him,  as 
well  as  Marie  Fauville,  for  love  of  whom  they  had  fought 
so  unskilful  a  fight,  were  imprisoned  in  an  iron  circle 
which  their  efforts  would  not  succeed  in  breaking.  And 
that  circle  traced  by  an  unknown  hand  he,  Perenna,  had 
drawn  tighter  around  them  with  the  most  ruthless  de- 
termination. 

"If  only  it  is  not  too  late!"  he  muttered. 

He  staggered  under  the  shock  of  the  sensations  and 
ideas  that  crowded  upon  him.  Everything  clashed  in 
his  brain  with  tragic  violence:  certainty,  joy,  dismay, 
despair,  fury.  He  was  struggling  in  the  clutches  of  the 
most  hideous  nightmare;  and  he  already  seemed  to  see  a 
detective's  heavy  hand  descending  on  Florence's  shoulder. 

"Come  away!  Come  away!"  he  cried,  starting  up  in 
alarm.  "It  is  madness  to  remain!" 

"But  the  house  is  surrounded,"  Sauverand  objected. 

"And  then?     Do  you  think  that  I  will  allow  for  a 

second ?     No,  no,  come!    We  must  fight  side  by 

side.  I  shall  still  entertain  some  doubts,  that  is  certain. 
You  must  destroy  them;  and  we  will  save  Mme.  Fauville." 

"But  the  detectives  round  the  house?" 

"We'll  manage  them." 

"Weber,  the  deputy  chief?" 

"He's  not  here.  And  as  long  as  he's  not  here  I'll  take 
everything  on  myself.  Come,  follow  me,  but  at  some 


«        GASTON  SAUVERAND  EXPLAINS        247 

little  distance.     When  I  give  the  signal  and  not  till 

then " 

He  drew  the  bolt  and  turned  the  handle  of  the  door. 

At  that  moment  some  one  knocked.     It  was  the  butler. 
"Well?"  asked  Don  Luis.     "Why  am  I  disturbed?" 
"The  deputy  chief  detective,  M.  Weber,  is  here,  sir." 


CHAPTER  ELEVEN 

ROUTED 

DON  LUIS  had  certainly  expected  this  formidable 
blow;  and  yet  it  appeared  to  take  him  unawaresr 
and  he  repeated  more  than  once: 

"Ah,  Weber  is  here!     Weber  is  here!" 

All  his  buoyancy  left  him,  and  he  felt  like  a  retreating 
army  which,  after  almost  making  good  its  escape,  suddenly 
finds  itself  brought  to  a  stop  by  a  steep  mountain.  Weber 
was  there  —  that  is  to  say,  the  chief  leader  of  the  enemies, 
the  man  who  would  be  sure  to  plan  the  attack  and  the 
resistance  in  such  a  manner  as  to  dash  Perenna's  hopes 
to  the  ground.  With  Weber  at  the  head  of  the  detectives, 
any  attempt  to  force  a  way  out  would  have  been  absurd. 

"Did  you  let  him  in?"  he  asked. 

"You  did  not  tell  me  not  to,  sir." 

"Is  he  alone?" 

"No,  sir,  the  deputy  chief  has  six  men  with  him.  He 
has  left  them  in  the  courtyard." 

"And  where  is  he?" 

"He  asked  me  to  take  him  to  the  first  floor.  He  ex- 
pected  to  find  you  in  your  study,  sir." 

"Does  he  know  now  that  I  am  with  Sergeant  Mazeroux 
and  Mile.  Levasseur?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

Perenna  thought  for  a  moment  and  then  said: 

MB 


ROUTED  249 

"Tell  him  that  you  have  not  found  me  and  that  you 
are  going  to  look  for  me  in  Mile.  Levasseur's  rooms.  Per- 
haps he  will  go  with  you.  All  the  better  if  he  does." 

And  he  locked  the  door  again. 

The  struggle  through  which  he  had  just  passed  did 
not  show  itself  on  his  face;  and,  now  that  all  was  lost, 
now  that  he  was  called  upon  to  act,  he  recovered  that  won- 
derful composure  which  never  abandoned  him  at  decisive 
moments.  He  went  up  to  Florence.  She  was  very  pale 
and  was  silently  weeping.  He  said: 

"You  must  not  be  frightened,  Mademoiselle.  If  you 
obey  me  implicitly,  you  will  have  nothing  to  fear." 

She  did  not  reply  and  he  saw  that  she  still  mistrusted 
him.  And  he  almost  rejoiced  at  the  thought  that  he 
would  compel  her  to  believe  in  him. 

"Listen  to  me,"  he  said  to  Sauverand.  "In  case  I 
should  not  succeed  after  all,  there  are  still  several  things 
which  you  must  explain." 

"What  are  they?"  asked  Sauverand,  who  had  lost  none 
of  his  coolness. 

Then,  collecting  all  his  riotous  thoughts,  resolved  to 
omit  nothing,  but  at  the  same  time  to  speak  only  what 
was  essential,  Don  Luis  asked,  in  a  calm  voice: 

"Where  were  you  on  the  morning  before  the  murder, 
when  a  man  carrying  an  ebony  walking-stick  and  answer- 
ing to  your  description  entered  the  Cafe  du  Pont-Neuf 
immediately  after  Inspector  Verot?" 

"At  home." 

"Are  you  sure  that  you  did  not  go  out?" 

"Absolutely  sure.  And  I  am  also  sure  that  I  have  never 
been  to  the  Cafe  du  Pont-Neuf,  of  which  I  had  never  even 
heard." 


250  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Good.  Next  question.  Why,  when  you  learned  all 
about  this  business,  did  you  not  go  to  the  Prefect  of 
Police  or  the  examining  magistrate?  It  would  have  been 
simpler  for  you  to  give  yourself  up  and  tell  the  exact 
truth  than  to  engage  in  this  unequal  fight." 

"I  was  thinking  of  doing  so.  But  I  at  once  realized 
that  the  plot  hatched  against  me  was  so  clever  that  no 
bare  statement  of  the  truth  would  have  been  enough  to 
convince  the  authorities.  They  would  never  have  be- 
lieved me.  What  proof  could  I  supply?  None  at  all  — 
whereas,  on  the  other  hand,  the  proofs  against  us  were 
overwhelming  and  undeniable.  Were  not  the  marks  of 
the  teeth  evidence  of  Marie's  undoubted  guilt?  And  were 
not  my  silence,  my  flight,  the  shooting  of  Chief  Inspec- 
tor Ancenis  so  many  crimes?  No,  if  I  would  rescue  Marie, 
I  must  remain  free." 

"But  she  could  have  spoken  herself?" 

"And  confessed  our  love?  Apart  from  the  fact  that 
her  womanly  modesty  would  have  prevented  her,  what 
good  would  it  have  done?  On  the  contrary,  it  meant 
lending  greater  weight  to  the  accusation.  That  was  just 
what  happened  when  Hippolyte  Fauville's  letters,  ap- 
pearing one  by  one,  revealed  to  the  police  the  as  yet  un- 
known motives  of  the  crimes  imputed  to  us.  We  loved 
each  other." 

"How  do  you  explain  the  letters?" 

"I  can't  explain  them.  We  did  not  know  of  Fauville's 
jealousy.  He  kept  it  to  himself.  And  then,  again,  why 
did  he  suspect  us?  What  can  have  put  it  into  his  head 
that  we  meant  to  kill  him?  WTiere  did  his  fears,  his 
nightmares,  come  from?  It  is  a  mystery.  He  wrote 
that  he  had  letters  of  ours  in  his  possession :  what  letters?  " 


ROUTED  251 

"And  the  marks  of  the  teeth,  those  marks  which  were 
undoubtedly  made  by  Mme.  Fauville?" 

"I  don't  know.     It  is  all  incomprehensible." 

"You  don't  know  either  what  she  can  have  done  after 
leaving  the  opera  between  twelve  and  two  in  the  morn- 
ing?" 

"No.  She  was  evidently  lured  into  a  trap.  But  how 
and  by  whom?  And  why  does  she  not  say  what  she  was 
doing?  More  mystery." 

"You  were  seen  that  evening,  the  evening  of  the  mur- 
ders, at  Auteuil  station.  What  were  you  doing  there?" 

"I  was  going  to  the  Boulevard  Suchet  and  I  passed 
under  Marie's  windows.  Remember  that  it  was  a  Wednes- 
day. I  came  back  on  the  following  Wednesday,  and,  still 
knowing  nothing  of  the  tragedy  or  of  Marie's  arrest,  I 
came  back  again  on  the  second  Wednesday,  which  was 
the  evening  on  which  you  found  out  where  I  lived  and 
informed  Sergeant  Mazeroux  against  me." 

"Another  thing.  Did  you  know  of  the  Mornington 
inheritance?" 

"No,  nor  Florence  either;  and  we  have  every  reason  to 
think  that  Marie  and  her  husband  knew  no  more  about 
it  than  we  did." 

"That  barn  at  Damigni:  was  it  the  first  time  that  you 
had  entered  it?  " 

"Yes;  and  our  astonishment  at  the  sight  of  the  two 
skeletons  hanging  from  the  rafters  equalled  yours." 

Don  Luis  was  silent.  He  cast  about  for  a  few  seconds 
longer  to  see  if  he  had  any  more  questions  to  ask.  Then 
he  said : 

"That  is  all  I  wanted  to  know.  Are  you,  on  your  side, 
certain  that  everything  that  is  necessary  has  been  said?" 


THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

/ 

"Yes." 

"This  is  a  serious  moment.  It  is  possible  that  we  may 
not  meet  again.  Now  you  have  not  given  me  a  single 
proof  of  your  statements." 

"I  have  told  you  the  truth.  To  a  man  like  yourself, 
the  truth  is  enough.  As  for  me,  I  am  beaten.  I  give 
up  the  struggle,  or,  rather,  I  place  myself  under  your 
orders.  Save  Marie." 

"I  will  save  the  three  of  you,"  said  Perenna.  "The 
fourth  of  the  mysterious  letters  is  to  make  its  appearance 
to-morrow:  that  leaves  ample  time  for  us  to  lay  our  heads 
together  and  study  the  matter  fully.  And  to-morrow 
evening  I  shall  go  there  and,  with  the  help  of  all  that 
you  have  told  me,  I  shall  prove  the  innocence  of  you  all. 
The  essential  thing  is  to  be  present  at  the  meeting  on 
the  twenty-fifth  of  May." 

"Please  think  only  of  Marie.  Sacrifice  me,  if  necessary. 
Sacrifice  Florence  even.  I  am  speaking  in  her  name  as 
well  as  my  own  when  I  tell  you  that  it  is  better  to  desert 
us  than  to  jeopardize  the  slightest  chance  of  success." 

"I  will  save  the  three  of  you,"  Perenna  repeated. 

He  pushed  the  door  ajar  and,  after  listening  outside,  said : 

"Don't  move.  And  don't  open  the  door  to  anybody, 
on  any  pretext  whatever,  before  I  come  to  fetch  you.  I 
shall  not  be  long." 

He  locked  the  door  behind  him  and  went  down  to  the 
first  floor.  He  did  not  feel  those  high  spirits  which  usually 
cheered  him  on  the  eve  of  his  great  battles.  This  time, 
Florence  Levasseur's  life  and  liberty  were  at  stake;  and 
the  consequences  of  a  defeat  seemed  to  him  worse  than 
death. 

Through  the  window  on  the  landing  he  saw  the  deteo 


ROUTED  253 

tives  guarding  the  courtyard.  He  counted  six  of  them. 
And  he  also  saw  the  deputy  chief  at  one  of  the  windows  of 
his  study,  watching  the  courtyard  and  keeping  in  touch 
with  his  detectives. 

"By  Jove!"  he  thought,  "he's  sticking  to  his  post.  It 
will  be  a  tough  job.  He  suspects  something.  However, 
let's  make  a  start!" 

He  went  through  the  drawing-room  and  entered  his 
study.  Weber  saw  him.  The  two  enemies  were  face  to  face. 

There  was  a  few  seconds'  silence  before  the  duel  opened, 
the  duel  which  was  bound  to  be  swift  and  vigorous,  with- 
out the  least  sign  of  weakness  or  distraction  on  either  side. 
It  could  not  last  longer  than  three  minutes. 

The  deputy  chief's  face  bore  an  expression  of  mingled 
joy  and  anxiety.  For  the  first  time  he  had  permission, 
he  had  orders,  to  fight  that  accursed  .Don  Luis,  against 
whom  he  had  never  yet  been  able  to  satisfy  his  hatred. 
And  his  delight  was  all  the  greater  because  he  held  every 
trump,  whereas  Don  Luis  had  put  himself  in  the  wrong 
by  defending  Florence  Levasseur  and  tampering  with  the 
girl's  portrait.  On  the  other  hand,  Weber  did  not  for- 
get that  Don  Luis  was  identical  with  Arsene  Lupin;  and 
this  consideration  caused  him  a  certain  uneasiness.  He 
was  obviously  thinking: 

"The  least  blunder,  and  I'm  done  for." 

He  crossed  swords  with  a  jest. 

"  I  see  that  you  were  not  in  Mile.  Levasseur's  lodge, 
as  your  man  pretended." 

"My  man  spoke  in  accordance  with  my  instructions, 
I  was  in  my  bedroom,  upstairs.  But  I  wanted  to  finish 
the  job  before  I  came  down." 

"And  is  it  done?" 


254  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"  It's  done.  Florence  Levasseur  and  Gaston  Sauverand 
are  in  my  room,  gagged  and  bound.  You  have  only  to 
accept  delivery  of  the  goods." 

"Gaston  Sauverand!"  cried  Weber.  "Then  it  was  he 
who  was  seen  coming  in?" 

"Yes.  He  was  simply  living  with  Florence  Levasseur, 
whose  lover  he  is." 

"Oho!"  said  the  deputy  chief,  in  a  bantering  tone. 
"Her  lover!" 

"Yes;  and  when  Sergeant  Mazeroux  brought  Florence 
Levasseur  to  my  room,  to  question  her  out  of  hearing  of 
the  servants,  Sauverand,  foreseeing  the  arrest  of  his  mis- 
tress, had  the  audacity  to  join  us.  He  tried  to  rescue  her 
from  our  hands." 

"And  you  checkmated  him?" 

"Yes." 

It  was  clear  that  the  deputy  chief  did  not  believe  one 
word  of  the  story.  He  knew  through  M.  Desmalions 
and  Mazeroux  that  Don  Luis  was  in  love  with  Florence; 
and  Don  Luis  was  not  the  man  even  through  jealousy  to 
hand  over  a  woman  whom  he  loved.  He  increased  his 
attention. 

"Good  business!"  he  said.  "Take  me  up  to  your 
room.  Was  it  a  hard  struggle?" 

"Not  very.  I  managed  to  disarm  the  scoundrel.  All 
the  same,  Mazeroux  got  stabbed  in  the  thumb." 

"Nothing  serious?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no;  but  he  has  gone  to  have  his  wound 
dressed  at  the  chemist's." 

The  deputy  chief  stopped,  greatly  surprised. 

"What!  Isn't  Mazeroux  in  your  room  with  the  two 
prisoners?" 


ROUTED  255 

"I  never  told  you  that  he  was." 

"No,  but  your  butler  - 

"The  butler  made  a  mistake.  Mazeroux  went  out  a 
few  minutes  before  you  came." 

"It's  funny,"  said  Weber,  watching  Don  Luis  closely, 
"but  my  men  all  think  he's  here.  They  haven't  seen 
him  go  out." 

"They  haven't  seen  him  go  out?"  echoed  Don  Luis, 
pretending  to  feel  anxious.  "But,  then,  where  can  he 
be?  He  told  me  he  wanted  to  have  his  thumb  seen  to." 

The  deputy  chief  was  growing  more  and  more  suspicious. 
Evidently  Perenna  was  trying  to  get  rid  of  him  by  send- 
ing him  in  search  of  the  sergeant. 

"I  will  send  one  of  my  men,"  he  said.  " Is  the  chemist's 
near?" 

"Just  around  the  corner,  in  the  Rue  de  Bourgogne. 
Besides,  we  can  telephone." 

"Oh,  we  can  telephone!"  muttered  Weber. 

He  was  quite  at  a  loss  and  looked  like  a  man  who  does 
not  know  what  is  going  to  happen  next.  He  moved  slowly 
toward  the  instrument,  while  barring  the  way  to  Don 
Luis  to  prevent  his  escaping.  Don  Luis  therefore  re- 
treated to  the  telephone  box,  as  if  forced  to  do  so,  took 
down  the  receiver  with  one  hand,  and,  calling,  "Hullo! 
Hullo!  Saxe,  2409,"  with  the  other  hand,  which  was 
resting  against  the  wall,  he  cut  one  of  the  wires  with  a 
pair  of  pliers  which  he  had  taken  off  the  table  as  he  passed. 

"Hullo!  Are  you  there?  Is  that  2409?  Are  you  the 
chemist?  .  .  .  Hullo!  .  .  .  Sergeant  Mazeroux 
of  the  detective  service  is  with  you,  isn't  he?  Eh? 
What?  What  do  you  say?  But  it's  too  awful!  Are  you 
sure?  Do  you  mean  to  say  the  wound  is  poisoned?" 


256  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

Without  thinking  what  he  was  doing,  the  deputy  chief 
pushed  Don  Luis  aside  and  took  hold  of  the  receiver. 
The  thought  of  the  poisoned  wound  was  too  much  for 
him. 

"Are  you  there?"  he  cried,  keeping  an  eye  on  Don  Luis 
and  motioning  to  him  not  to  go  away.  "Are  you  there? 
...  Eh?  ...  It's  Deputy  Chief  Weber,  of  the 
detective  office,  speaking.  .  .  .  Hullo!  Are  you 
there?  ...  I  want  to  know  about  Sergeant  Maze- 
roux.  .  .  .  Are  you  there?  .  .  .  Oh,  hang  it, 
why  don't  you  answer!" 

Suddenly  he  let  go  the  instrument,  looked  at  the  wires, 
perceived  that  they  had  been  cut,  and  turned  round, 
showing  a  face  that  clearly  expressed  the  thought  in  his 
mind. 

"  That's  done  it.     I've  been  tricked !  " 

Perenna  was  standing  a  couple  of  yards  behind  him, 
leaning  carelessly  against  the  woodwork  of  the  arch,  with 
his  left  hand  passed  between  his  back  and  the  woodwork. 
He  was  smiling,  smiling  pleasantly,  kindly,  and  genially: 

"  Don't  move ! "  he  said,  with  a  gesture  of  his  right  hand. 

Weber,  more  frightened  by  that  smile  than  he  would 
have  been  by  threats,  took  good  care  not  to  move. 

"Don't  move,"  repeated  Don  Luis,  in  a  very  queer 
voice.  "And,  whatever  you  do,  don't  be  alarmed.  You 
shan't  be  hurt,  I  promise  you.  Just  five  minutes  in  a 
dark  cell  for  a  naughty  little  boy.  Are  you  ready?  One 
two,  three!  Bang!" 

He  stood  aside  and  pressed  the  button  that  worked 
the  iron  curtain.  The  heavy  panel  came  crashing  to  the 
floor.  The  deputy  chief  was  a  prisoner. 

"That's  a  hundred  millions  gone  to  Jericho,"  grinne^ 


ROUTED  257 

Don  Luis.  "A  pretty  trick,  but  a  bit  expensive.  Good- 
bye, Mornington  inheritance!  Good-bye,  Don  Luis  Per- 
enna !  And  now,  my  dear  Lupin,  if  you  don't  want  Weber 
to  take  his  revenge,  beat  a  retreat  and  in  good  order. 
One,  two;  left,  right;  left,  right!" 

As  he  spoke,  he  locked,  on  the  inside,  the  folding  doors 
between  the  drawing-room  and  the  first-floor  anteroom; 
then,  returning  to  his  study,  he  locked  the  door  between 
this  room  and  the  drawing-room. 

The  deputy  chief  was  banging  at  the  iron  curtain  with 
all  his  might  and  shouting  so  loud  that  they  were  bound 
to  hear  him  outside  through  the  open  window. 

"You're  not  making  half  enough  noise,  deputy!"  cried 
Don  Luis.  "Let's  see  what  we  can  do." 

He  took  his  revolver  and  fired  off  three  bullets,  one  of 
which  broke  a  pane.  Then  he  quickly  left  his  study  by 
a  small,  massive  door,  which  he  carefully  closed  behind 
him.  He  was  now  in  a  secret  passage  which  ran  round 
both  rooms  and  ended  at  another  door  leading  to  the 
anteroom.  He  opened  this  door  wide  and  was  thus  able 
to  hide  behind  it. 

Attracted  by  the  shots  and  the  noise,  the  detectives 
were  already  rushing  through  the  hall  and  up  the  staircase. 
When  they  reached  the  first  floor  and  had  gone  through 
the  anteroom,  as  the  drawing-room  doors  were  locked, 
the  only  outlet  open  to  them  was  the  passage,  at  the  end 
of  which  they  could  hear  the  deputy  shouting.  They 
all  six  darted  down  it. 

When  the  last  of  them  had  vanished  round  the  bend 
in  the  passage,  Don  Luis  softly  pushed  back  the  door 
that  concealed  him  and  locked  it  like  the  rest.  The  six 
detectives  were  as  safely  imprisoned  as  the  deputy  chief. 


258  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Bottled!"  muttered  Don  Luis.  "It  will  take  them 
quite  five  minutes  to  realize  the  situation,  to  bang  at  the 
locked  doors,  and  to  break  down  one  of  them.  In  five 
minutes  we  shall  be  far  away." 

He  met  two  of  his  servants  running  up  with  scared  faces, 
the  chauffeur  and  the  butler.  He  flung  each  of  them  a 
thousand-franc  note  and  said  to  the  chauffeur: 

"Set  the  engine  going,  there's  a  sportsman,  and  let 
no  one  near  the  machine  to  block  my  way.  Two  thousand 
francs  more  for  each  of  you  if  I  get  off  in  the  motor. 
Don't  stand  staring  at  me  like  that:  I  mean  what  I  say. 
Two  thousand  francs  apiece:  it's  for  you  to  earn  it.  Look 
sharp!" 

He  himself  went  up  the  second  flight  without  undue 
haste,  remaining  master  of  himself.  But,  on  the  last 
stair,  he  was  seized  with  such  a  feeling  of  elation  that  he 
shouted : 

"Victory!     The  road  is  clear!" 

The  boudoir  door  was  opposite.  He  opened  it  and  re- 
peated: 

"Victory!  But  there's  not  a  second  to  lose.  Follow 
me." 

He  entered.     A  stifled  oath  escaped  his  lips. 

The  room  was  empty. 

"What!"  he  stammered.  "What  does  this  mean? 
They're  gone.  .  .  .  Florence 

Certainly,  unlikely  though  it  seemed,  he  had  hitherto 
supposed  that  Sauverand  possessed  a  false  key  to  the 
lock.  But  how  could  they  both  have  escaped,  in  the 
midst  of  the  detectives?  He  looked  around  him.  And 
then  he  understood. 

In  the  recess  containing  the  window,  the  lower  part  of 


ROUTED  259 

the  wall,  which  formed  a  very  wide  box  underneath  the 
casement,  had  the  top  of  its  woodwork  raised  and  resting 
against  the  panes,  exactly  like  the  lid  of  a  chest.  And 
inside  the  open  chest  he  saw  the  upper  rungs  of  a  narrow 
descending  ladder. 

In  a  second,  Don  Luis  conjured  up  the  whole  story  of 
the  past:  Count  Malonyi's  ancestress  hiding  in  the  old 
family  mansion,  escaping  the  search  of  the  perquisitors, 
and  in  this  way  living  throughout  the  revolutionary 
troubles.  Everything  was  explained.  A  passage  con- 
trived in  the  thickness  of  the  wall  led  to  some  distant 
outlet.  And  this  was  how  Florence  used  to  come  and  go 
through  the  house;  this  was  how  Gaston  went  in  and  out 
in  all  security;  and  this  also  was  how  both  of  them  were 
able  to  enter  his  room  and  surprise  his  secrets. 

"Why  not  have  told  me?"  he  wondered.  "A  lingering 
suspicion,  I  suppose  — 

But  his  eyes  were  attracted  by  a  sheet  of  paper  on  the 
table.  With  a  feverish  hand,  Gaston  Sauverand  had 
scribbled  the  following  lines  in  pencil: 

"We  are  trying  to  escape  so  as  not  to  compromise  you.  If 
we  are  caught,  it  can't  be  helped.  The  great  thing  is  that  you 
should  be  free.  All  our  hopes  are  centred  in  you." 

Below  were  two  words  written  by  Florence: 
"Save  Marie." 

"Ah,"  he  murmured,  disconcerted  by  the  turn  of  events 
and  not  knowing  what  to  decide,  "why,  oh,  why  did  the$ 
not  obey  my  instructions?  We  are  separated  now  - 

Downstairs  the  detectives  were  battering  at  the  door 


260  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

of  the  passage  in  which  they  were  imprisoned.  Perhaps 
he  would  still  have  time  to  reach  his  motor  before  they 
succeeded  in  breaking  down  the  door.  Nevertheless,  he 
preferred  to  take  the  same  road  as  Florence  andSauverand, 
which  gave  him  the  hope  of  saving  them  and  of  rescuing 
them  in  case  of  danger. 

He  therefore  stepped  over  the  side  of  the  chest,  placed 
his  foot  on  the  top  rung  and  went  down.  Some  twenty 
bars  brought  him  to  the  middle  of  the  first  floor.  Here, 
by  the  light  of  his  electric  lantern,  he  entered  a  sort  of 
low,  vaulted  tunnel,  dug,  as  he  thought,  in  the  wall,  and 
so  narrow  that  he  could  only  walk  along  it  sideways. 

Thirty  yards  farther  there  was  a  bend,  at  right  angles; 
and  next,  at  the  end  of  another  tunnel  of  the  same  length, 
a  trapdcor,  which  stood  open,  revealing  the  rungs  of  a 
second  ladder.  He  did  not  doubt  that  the  fugitives  had 
gone  this  way. 

It  was  quite  light  at  the  bottom.  Here  he  found  him- 
self in  a  cupboard  which  was  also  open  and  which,  on 
ordinary  occasions,  must  have  been  covered  by  curtains 
that  were  now  drawn.  This  cupboard  faced  a  bed  that 
filled  almost  the  whole  space  of  an  alcove.  On  passing 
through  the  alcove  and  reaching  a  room  from  which  it 
vvas  separated  only  by  a  slender  partition,  to  his  great 
surprise,  he  recognized  Florence's  sitting-room. 

This  time,  he  knew  where  he  was.  The  exit,  which 
was  not  secret,  as  it  led  to  the  Place  du  Palais-Bourbon, 
but  nevertheless  very  safe,  was  that  which  Sauverand 
generally  used  when  Florence  admitted  him. 

Don  Luis  therefore  went  through  the  entrance  hall 
and  down  the  steps  and,  a  little  way  before  the  pantry, 
came  upon  the  cellar  stairs.  He  ran  down  these  and 


ROUTED  261 

soon  recognized  the  low  door  that  served  to  admit  the 
wine-casks.  The  daylight  filtered  in  through  a  small, 
grated  spy-hole.  He  groped  till  he  found  the  lock.  Glad 
to  have  come  to  the  end  of  his  expedition,  he  opened  the 
door. 

"Hang  it  all!"  he  growled,  leaping  back  and  clutching 
at  the  lock,  which  he  managed  to  fasten  again. 

Two  policemen  in  uniform  were  guarding  the  exits 
two  policemen  who  had  tried  to  seize  him  as  he  appeared. 

Where  did  those  two  men  come  from?  Had  they  pre- 
vented the  escape  of  Sauverand  and  Florence?  But  in 
that  case  Don  Luis  would  have  met  the  two  fugitives,  as 
he  had  come  by  exactly  the  same  road  as  they. 

"No,"  he  thought,  "they  effected  their  flight  before 
the  exit  was  watched.  But,  by  Jove!  it's  my  turn  to 
clear  out;  and  that's  not  easy.  Shall  I  let  myself  be 
caught  in  my  burrow  like  a  rabbit?" 

He  went  up  the  cellar  stairs  again,  intending  to  hasten 
matters,  to  slip  into  the  courtyard  through  the  outhouses, 
to  jump  into  his  motor,  and  to  clear  a  way  for  himself. 
But,  when  he  was  just  reaching  the  yard,  near  the  coach- 
house, he  saw  four  detectives,  four  of  those  whom  he  had 
imprisoned,  come  up  waving  their  arms  and  shouting. 
And  he  also  became  aware  of  a  regular  uproar  near  the 
main  gate  and  the  porter's  lodge.  A  number  of  men  were 
all  talking  together,  raising  their  voices  in  violent  dis- 
cussion. 

Perhaps  he  might  profit  by  this  opportunity  to  steal 
outside  under  cover  of  the  disorder.  At  the  risk  of  being 
seen,  he  put  out  his  head.  And  what  he  saw  astounded 
him. 

Gaston  Sauverand  stood  with  his  back  to  the  wall  of 


262  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

the  lodge,  surrounded  by  policemen  and  detectives  who 
pushed  and  insulted  him.  The  handcuffs  were  on  his 
wrists. 

Gaston  Sauverand  a  prisoner!  What  had  happened 
between  the  two  fugitives  and  the  police? 

His  heart  wrung  with  anguish,  he  leaned  out  still  farther. 
But  he  did  not  see  Florence.  The  girl  had  no  doubt  suc- 
ceeded in  escaping. 

Weber's  appearance  on  the  steps  and  the  deputy  chief's 
6rst  words  confirmed  his  hopes.  Weber  was  mad  with 
rage.  His  recent  captivity  and  the  humiliation  of  his 
defeat  exasperated  him. 

"  Ah ! "  he  roared,  as  he  saw  the  prisoner.  "There's  one 
of  them,  at  any  rate!  Gaston  Sauverand !  Choice  game, 
that!  .  .  .  Where  did  you  catch  him?" 

"On  the  Place  du  Palais-Bourbon,"  said  one  of  the 
inspectors.  "We  saw  him  slinking  out  through  the  cellar 
door." 

"And  his  accomplice,  the  Levasseur  girl?" 

"  We  missed  her,  Deputy  Chief.     She  was  the  first  out." 

"And  Don  Luis?  You  haven't  let  him  leave  the  house, 
I  hope?  I  gave  orders." 

"  He  tried  to  get  out  through  the  cellar  door  five  minutes 
after." 

"Who  said  so?" 

"One  of  the  men  in  uniform  posted  outside  the  door." 

"Well?" 

"The  beggar  went  back  into  the  cellar." 

Weber  gave  a  shout  of  delight. 

"We've  got  him!  And  it's  a  nasty  business  for  him! 
Charge  of  resisting  the  police!  .  .  .  Complicity? 
.  .  .  We  shall  be  able  to  unmask  him  at  last.  Tally- 


ROUTED  263 

ho,  my  lads,  tally-ho!  Two  men  to  guard  Sauverand, 
four  men  on  the  Place  du  Palais-Bourbon,  revolver  in 
hand.  Two  men  on  the  roof.  The  rest  stick  to  me. 
We'll  begin  with  the  Levasseur  girl's  room  and  we'll  take 
his  room  next.  Hark,  forward,  my  lads!" 

Don  Luis  did  not  wait  for  the  enemies'  attack.  Know- 
ing their  intentions,  he  beat  a  retreat,  unseen,  toward 
Florence's  rooms.  Here,  as  Weber  did  not  yet  know  the 
short  cut  through  the  outhouses,  he  had  time  to  make  sure 
that  the  trapdoor  was  in  perfect  working  order,  and  that 
there  was  no  reason  why  they  should  discover  the  existence 
of  a  secret  cupboard  at  the  back  of  the  alcove,  behind 
the  curtains  of  the  bed. 

Once  inside  the  passage,  he  went  up  the  first  staircase, 
followed  the  long  corridor  contrived  in  the  wall,  climbed 
the  ladder  leading  to  the  boudoir,  and,  perceiving  that 
this  second  trapdoor  fitted  the  woodwork  so  closely  that 
no  one  could  suspect  anything,  he  closed  it  over  him.  A 
few  minutes  later  he  heard  the  noise  of  men  making  a 
search  above  his  head. 

And  so,  on  the  twenty-fourth  of  May,  at  five  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  the  position  was  as  follows:  Florence 
Levasseur  with  a  warrant  out  against  her,  Gaston  Sauve- 
rand in  prison,  Marie  Fauville  in  prison  and  refusing  all 
food,  and  Don  Luis,  who  believed  in  their  innocence  and 
who  alone  could  have  saved  them,  Don  Luis  was  being 
blockaded  in  his  own  house  and  hunted  down  by  a  score 
of  detectives. 

As  for  the  Mornington  inheritance,  there  could  be  no 
more  question  of  that,  because  the  legatee,  in  his  turn, 
had  set  himself  in  open  rebellion  against  society. 

"Capital!"  said  Don  Luis,  with  a  grin.     "This  is  lift 


264  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

as  I  understand  it.  The  question  is  a  simple  one  and 
may  be  put  in  different  ways.  How  can  a  wretched,  un- 
washed beggar,  with  not  a  penny  in  his  pocket,  make  a 
fortune  in  twenty-four  hours  without  setting  foot  outside 
his  hovel?  How  can  a  general,  with  no  soldiers  and  no 
ammunition  left,  win  a  battle  which  he  has  lost?  In 
short,  how  shall  I,  Arsene  Lupin,  manage  to  be  present 
to-morrow  evening  at  the  meeting  which  will  be  held  on 
the  Boulevard  Suchet  and  to  behave  in  such  a  way  as  to 
save  Marie  Fauville,  Florence  Levasseur,  Gaston  Sauve- 
rand,  and  my  excellent  friend  Don  Luis  Perenna  in  the 
bargain?" 

Dull  blows  came  from  somewhere.  The  men  must  be 
hunting  the  roofs  and  sounding  the  walls. 

Don  Luis  stretched  himself  flat  on  the  floor,  hid  his 
face  in  his  folded  arms  and,  shutting  his  eyes,  murmured: 

"Let's  think." 


CHAPTER  TWELVE 

"HELP!" 

WHEN  Lupin  afterward  told  me  this  episode  of  the 
tragic  story,  he  said,  not  without  a  certain  self- 
complacency: 

"What  astonished  me  then,  and  what  astonishes  me 
still,  as  one  of  the  most  amazing  victories  on  which  T  am 
entitled  to  pride  myself,  is  that  I  was  able  to  admit  Sauve- 
rand  and  Marie  Fauville's  innocence  on  the  spot,  as  a 
problem  solved  once  and  for  all.  It  was  a  first-class 
performance,  I  swear,  and  surpassed  the  most  famous 
deductions  of  the  most  famous  investigators  both  in  psy- 
chological value  and  in  detective  merit. 

"After  all,  taking  everything  into  account,  there  was 
not  the  shadow  of  a  fresh  fact  to  enable  me  to  alter  the 
verdict.  The  charges  accumulated  against  the  two  pris- 
oners were  the  same,  and  were  so  grave  that  no  examining 
magistrate  would  have  hesitated  for  a  second  to  commit 
them  for  trial,  nor  any  jury  to  bring  them  in  guilty.  I 
will  not  speak  of  Marie  Fauville:  you  had  only  to  think 
of  the  marks  of  her  teeth  to  be  absolutely  certain.  But 
Gaston  Sauverand,  the  son  of  Victor  Sauverand  and  con- 
sequently the  heir  of  Cosmo  Mornington  —  Gaston  Sau- 
verand, the  man  with  the  ebony  walking-stick  and  the 
murderer  of  Chief  Inspector  Ancenis  —  was  he  not  just 
as  guilty  as  Marie  Fauville,  incriminated  with  her  by 

265 


266  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

the  mysterious  letters,  incriminated  by  the  very  revela- 
tion of  the  husband  whom  they  had  killed? 

"And  yet  why  did  that  sudden  change  take  place  in 
me?"  he  asked.  "Why  did  I  go  against  the  evidence? 
Why  did  I  credit  an  incredible  fact?  Why  did  I  admit 
the  inadmissible?  Why?  Well,  no  doubt,  because  truth 
has  an  accent  that  rings  in  the  ears  in  a  manner  all  its 
own.  On  the  one  side,  every  proof,  every  fact,  every 
reality,  every  certainty;  on  the  other,  a  story,  a  story 
told  by  one  of  the  three  criminals,  and  therefore,  presump- 
tively, absurd  and  untrue  from  start  to  finish.  But  a 
story  told  in  a  frank  voice,  a  clear,  dispassionate,  closely 
woven  story,  free  from  complications  or  improbabilities, 
a  story  which  supplied  no  positive  solution,  but  which, 
by  its  very  honesty,  obliged  any  impartial  mind  to  re- 
consider the  solution  arrived  at.  I  believed  the  story." 

The  explanation  which  Lupin  gave  me  was  not  com- 
plete. I  asked: 

"And  Florence  Levasseur?" 

"Florence?" 

"Yes,  you  don't  tell  me  what  you  thought.  What  was 
your  opinion  about  her?  Everything  tended  to  incrimi- 
nate her  not  only  in  your  eyes,  because,  logically  speak- 
ing, she  had  taken  part  in  all  the  attempts  to  murder 
you,  but  also  in  the  eyes  of  the  police.  They  knew  that 
she  used  to  pay  Sauverand  clandestine  visits  at  his  house 
on  the  Boulevard  Richard- Wallace.  They  had  found 
her  photograph  in  Inspector  Verot's  memorandum-book, 
and  then  —  and  then  all  the  rest:  your  accusations,  your 
certainties.  Was  all  that  modified  by  Sauverand's  story? 
To  your  mind,  was  Florence  innocent  or  guilty?" 

He  hesitated,  seemed  on  the  point  of  replying  directly 


"HELP!"  267 

and  frankly  to  my  question,  but  could  not  bring  himself 
to  do  so,  and  said: 

"I  wished  to  have  confidence.  In  order  to  act,  I 
must  have  full  and  entire  confidence,  whatever  doubts 
might  still  assail  me,  whatever  darkness  might  still  en- 
shroud this  or  that  part  of  the  adventure.  I  therefore 
believed.  And,  believing,  I  acted  according  to  my  belief." 

Acting,  to  Don  Luis  Perenna,  during  those  hours  of 
forced  inactivity,  consisted  solely  in  perpetually  repeating 
to  himself  Gaston  Sauverand's  account  of  the  events. 
He  tried  to  reconstitute  it  in  all  its  details,  to  remember 
the  very  least  sentences,  the  apparently  most  insignificant 
phrases.  And  he  examined  those  sentences,  scrutinized 
those  phrases  one  by  one,  in  order  to  extract  such  particle 
of  the  truth  as  they  contained. 

For  the  truth  was  there.  Sauverand  had  said  so  and 
Perenna  did  not  doubt  it.  The  whole  sinister  affair,  all 
that  constituted  the  case  of  the  Mornington  inheritance 
and  the  tragedy  of  the  Boulevard  Suchet,  all  that  could 
throw  light  upon  the  plot  hatched  against  Marie  Fauville, 
all  that  could  explain  the  undoing  of  Sauverand  and 
Florence  —  all  this  lay  in  Sauverand's  story.  Don  Luis 
had  only  to  understand,  and  the  truth  would  appear  like 
the  moral  which  we  draw  from  some  obscure  fable. 

Don  Luis  did  not  once  deviate  from  his  method.  If 
any  objection  suggested  itself  to  his  mind,  he  at  once 
replied : 

"Very  well.  It  may  be  that  I  am  wrong  and  that 
Sauverand's  story  will  not  enlighten  me  on  any  point 
capable  of  guiding  me.  It  may  be  that  the  truth  lies 
outside  it.  But  am  I  in  a  position  to  get  at  the  truth  in 
any  other  way?  All  that  I  possess  as  an  instrument  of 


268  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

research,  without  attaching  undue  importance  to  certain 
gleams  of  light  which  the  regular  appearance  of  the  mys- 
terious letters  has  shed  upon  the  case,  all  that  I  possess 
is  Gaston  Sauverand's  story.  Must  I  not  make  use  of 
it?" 

And,  once  again,  as  when  one  follows  a  path  by  another 
person's  tracks,  be  began  to  live  through  the  adventure 
which  Sauverand  had  been  through.  He  compared  it 
with  the  picture  of  it  which  he  had  imagined  until  then. 
The  two  were  in  opposition;  but  could  not  the  very 
clash  of  their  opposition  be  made  to  produce  a  spark  of 
light? 

"Here  is  what  he  said,"  he  thought,  "and  there  is  what 
I  believed.  What  does  the  difference  mean?  Here  is 
the  thing  that  was,  and  there  is  the  thing  that  appeared 
to  be.  Why  did  the  criminal  wish  the  thing  that  was  to 
appear  under  that  particular  aspect?  To  remove  all  sus- 
picion from  him?  But,  in  that  case,  was  it  necessary 
that  suspicion  should  fall  precisely  on  those  on  whom  it 
did?" 

The  questions  came  crowding  one  upon  the  other.  He 
sometimes  answered  them  at  random,  mentioning  names 
and  uttering  words  in  succession,  as  though  the  name 
mentioned  might  be  just  that  of  the  criminal,  and  the 
words  uttered  those  which  contained  the  unseen  reality. 

Then  at  once  he  would  take  up  the  story  again,  as 
schoolboys  do  when  parsing  and  analyzing  a  passage,  in 
which  each  expression  is  carefully  sifted,  each  period  dis- 
cussed, each  sentence  reduced  to  its  essential  value. 

Hours  and  hours  passed.  Suddenly,  in  the  middle  of 
the  night,  he  gave  a  start.  He  took  out  his  watch,  By 


"HELP!"  269 

the  light  of  his  electric  lamp  he  saw  that  it  was  seventeen 
minutes  to  twelve. 

"So  at  seventeen  minutes  to  twelve  at  night,'*  he  said, 
"I  fathomed  the  mystery." 

He  tried  to  control  his  emotion,  but  it  was  too  great; 
and  his  nerves  were  so  immensely  staggered  by  the  trial 
that  he  began  to  shed  tears.  He  had  caught  sight  of  the 
appalling  truth,  all  of  a  sudden,  as  when  at  night  one 
half  sees  a  landscape  under  a  lightning-flash. 

There  is  nothing  more  unnerving  than  this  sudden 
illumination  when  we  have  been  groping  and  struggling 
in  the  dark.  Already  exhausted  by  his  physical  efforts 
and  by  the  want  of  food,  from  which  he  was  beginning 
to  suffer,  he  felt  the  shock  so  intensely  that,  without  caring 
to  think  a  moment  longer,  he  managed  to  go  to  sleep,  or, 
rather,  to  sink  into  sleep,  as  one  sinks  into  the  healing 
waters  of  a  bath. 

When  he  woke,  in  the  small  hours,  alert  and  well  despite 
the  discomfort  of  his  couch,  he  shuddered  on  thinking  of 
the  theory  which  he  had  accepted;  and  his  first  instinct 
was  to  doubt  it.  He  had,  so  to  speak,  no  time. 

All  the  proofs  came  rushing  to  his  mind  of  their  own 
accord  and  at  once  transformed  the  theory  into  one  of 
those  certainties  which  it  would  be  madness  to  deny.  It 
was  that  and  nothing  else.  As  he  had  foreseen,  the  truth 
lay  recorded  in  Sauverand's  story.  And  he  had  not  been 
mistaken,  either,  in  saying  to  Mazeroux  that  the  manner 
in  which  the  mysterious  letters  appeared  had  put  him 
on  the  track  of  the  truth. 

And  the  truth  was  terrible.  He  felt,  at  the  thought  of 
it,  the  same  fears  that  had  maddened  Inspector  Verot 
when,  already  tortured  by  the  poison,  he  stammered: 


270  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Oh,  I  don't  like  this,  I  don't  like  the  look  of  this! 
.  .  .  The  whole  thing  has  been  planned  in  such  an 
infernal  manner ! " 

Infernal  was  the  word!  And  Don  Luis  remained 
stupefied  at  the  revelation  of  a  crime  which  looked  as  if 
no  human  brain  could  have  conceived  it. 

For  two  hours  more  he  devoted  all  his  mental  powers 
to  examining  the  situation  from  every  point  of  view.  He 
was  not  much  disturbed  about  the  result,  because,  being 
now  in  possession  of  the  terrible  secret,  he  had  nothing 
more  t6  do  but  make  his  escape  and  go  that  evening  to  the 
meeting  on  the  Boulevard  Suchet,  where  he  would  show 
them  all  how  the  murder  was  committed. 

But  when,  wishing  to  try  his  chance  of  escaping,  he 
went  up  through  the  underground  passage  and  climbed 
to  the  top  of  the  upper  ladder  —  that  is  to  say,  to  the  level 
of  the  boudoir  —  he  heard  through  the  trapdoor  the 
voices  of  men  in  the  room. 

"By  Jove!"  he  said  to  himself,  "the  thing  is  not  so 
simple  as  I  thought!  In  order  to  escape  the  minions  of 
the  law  I  must  first  leave  my  prison;  and  here  is  at  least 
one  of  the  exits  blocked.  Let's  look  at  the  other.'* 

He  went  down  to  Florence's  apartments  and  worked 
the  mechanism,  which  consisted  of  a  counterweight.  The 
panel  of  the  cupboard  moved  in  the  groove. 

Driven  by  hunger  and  hoping  to  find  some  provisions 
which  would  enable  him  to  withstand  a  siege  without  being 
reduced  to  famine,  he  was  about  to  pass  through  the  alcove, 
behind  the  curtains,  when  he  was  stopped  short  by  a 
sound  of  footsteps.  Some  one  had  entered  the  room. 

"Well,  Mazeroux,  have  you  spent  the  night  here? 
Nothing  new?" 


"HELP!" 

Don  Luis  recognized  the  Prefect  of  Police  by  his  voice; 
and  the  question  put  by  the  Prefect  told  him,  first,  that 
Mazeroux  had  been  released  from  the  dark  closet  where 
he  had  bound  him  up,  and,  secondly,  that  the  sergeant 
was  in  the  next  room.  Fortunately,  the  sliding  panel 
had  worked  without  the  least  sound;  and  Don  Luis  was 
able  to  overhear  the  conversation  between  the  two  men. 

"No,  nothing  new,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  replied  Maze- 
roux. 

"That's  funny.  The  confounded  fellow  must  be  some- 
where. Or  can  he  have  got  away  over  the  roof?" 

"Impossible,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  said  a  third  voice, 
which  Don  Luis  recognized  as  that  of  Weber,  the  deputy 
chief  detective.  "Impossible.  We  made  certain  yester- 
day, that  unless  he  has  wings " 

"Then  what  do  you  think,  Weber?" 

"I  think,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  that  he  is  concealed  in 
the  house.  This  is  an  old  house  and  probably  contains 
some  safe  hiding-place  - 

"Of  course,  of  course,"  said  M.  Desmalions,  whom 
Don  Luis,  peeping  through  the  curtains,  saw  walking  to 
and  fro  in  front  of  the  alcove.  "You're  right;  and  we 
shall  catch  him  in  his  burrow.  Only,  is  it  really  necessary  ?' ' 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet!" 

"Well,  you  know  my  opinion  on  the  subject,  which  is 

also  the  Prime  Minister's  opinion.     Unearthing  Lupin 

would  be  a  blunder  which  we  should  end  by  regretting. 

After  all,  he's  become  an  honest  man,  you  know;  he's 

"useful  to  us  and  he  does  no  harm " 

"No  harm,  Monsieur  le  Prefet?  Do  you  think  so?" 
said  Weber  stiffly. 

M.  Desmalions  burst  out  laughing. 


THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Oh,  of  course,  yesterday's  trick,  the  telephone  trick! 
You  must  admit  it  was  funny.  The  Premier  had  to  hold 
his  sides  when  I  told  him  of  it." 

"Upon  my  word,  I  see  nothing  to  laugh  at!" 

"No,  but,  all  the  same,  the  rascal  is  never  at  a  loss. 
Funny  or  not,  the  trick  was  extraordinarily  daring.  To 
cut  the  telephone  wire  before  your  eyes  and  then  blockade 
you  behind  that  iron  curtain!  By  the  way,  Mazeroux, 
you  must  get  the  telephone  repaired  this  morning,  so  as 
to  keep  in  touch  with  the  office.  Have  you  begun  your 
search  in  these  two  rooms?" 

"As  you  ordered,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  The  deputy 
chief  and  I  have  been  hunting  round  for  the  last  hour." 

"Yes,"  said  M.  Desmalions,  "that  Florence  Levasseur 
strikes  me  as  a  troublesome  creature.  She  is  certainly 
an  accomplice.  But  what  were  her  relations  with  Sauve- 
rand  and  what  was  her  connection  with  Don  Luis  Perenna? 
That's  what  I  should  like  to  know.  Have  you  discovered 
nothing  in  her  papers?" 

"No,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  said  Mazeroux.  "Nothing 
but  bills  and  tradesmen's  letters." 

"And  you,  Weber?" 

"I've  found  something  very  interesting,  Monsieur  le 
Prefet." 

Weber  spoke  in  a  triumphant  tone,  and,  in  answer  to 
M.  Desmalions's  question,  went  on: 

"This  is  a  volume  of  Shakespeare,  Monsieur  le  Prefet, 
Volume  VIII.  You  will  see  that,  contrary  to  the  other 
volumes,  the  inside  is  empty  and  the  binding  forms  a  secret 
receptacle  for  hiding  documents." 

"Yes.     What  sort  of  documents?" 

"Here  they  are:  sheets  of  paper,  blank  sheets,  all  but 


"HELP!"  273 

three.  One  of  them  gives  a  list  of  the  dates  on  which  the 
mysterious  letters  were  to  appear." 

"Oho!"  said  M.  Desmalions.  "That's  a  crushing 
piece  of  evidence  against  Florence  Levasseur.  And  also 
it  tells  us  where  Don  Luis  got  his  list  from." 

Perenna  listened  with  surprise :  he  had  utterly  forgotten 
this  particular;  and  Gaston  Sauverand  had  made  no  refer- 
ence to  it  in  his  narrative.  And  yet  it  was  a  strange  and 
serious  detail.  From  whom  had  Florence  received  that 
list  of  dates? 

"And  what's  on  the  other  two  sheets?"  asked  M.  Des- 
malions. 

Don  Luis  pricked  up  his  ears.  Those  two  other  sheets 
had  escaped  his  attention  on  the  day  of  his  interview 
with  Florence  in  this  room. 

"Here  is  one  of  them,"  said  Weber. 

M.  Desmalions  took  the  paper  and  read: 

"Bear  in  mind  that  the  explosion  is  independent  of  the 
letters,  and  that  it  will  take  place  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morn- 

ing." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "the  famous  explosion  which  Don  Luis 
foretold  and  which  is  to  accompany  the  fifth  letter,  as 
announced  on  the  list  of  dates.  Tush!  We  have  plenty 
of  time,  as  there  have  been  only  three  letters  and  the 
fourth  is  due  to-night.  Besides,  blowing  up  that  house 
on  the  Boulevard  Suchet  would  be  no  easy  job,  by  Jove! 
Is  that  all?" 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  said  Weber,  producing  the  third 
sheet,  "would  you  mind  looking  at  these  lines  drawn  in 
pencil  and  enclosed  in  a  large  square  containing  some 


274  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

other  smaller  squares  and  rectangles  of  all  sizes?  Wouldn't 
you  say  that  it  was  the  plan  of  a  house?  " 

"Yes,  I  should." 

"It  is  the  plan  of  the  house  in  which  we  are,"  declared 
Weber  solemnly.  "Here  you  see  the  front  courtyard, 
the  main  building,  the  porter's  lodge,  and,  over  there, 
Mile.  Levasseur's  lodge.  From  this  lodge,  a  dotted  line, 
in  red  pencil,  starts  zigzagging  toward  the  main  building. 
The  commencement  of  this  line  is  marked  by  a  little  red 
cross  which  stands  for  the  room  in  which  we  are,  or,  to 
be  more  correct,  the  alcove.  You  will  see  here  something 
like  the  design  of  a  chimney,  or,  rather,  a  cupboard  —  a 
cupboard  recessed  behind  the  bed  and  probably  hidden 
by  the  curtains." 

"But,  in  that  case,  Weber,"  said  M.  Desmalions,  "this 
dotted  line  must  represent  a  passage  leading  from  this 
lodge  to  the  main  building.  Look,  there  is  also  a  little 
red  cross  at  the  other  end  of  the  line." 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  there  is  another  cross.  We 
shall  discover  later  for  certain  what  position  it  marks. 
But,  meanwhile,  and  acting  on  a  mere  guess,  I  have  posted 
some  men  in  a  small  room  on  the  second  floor  where  the 
last  secret  meeting  between  Don  Luis,  Florence  Levasseur, 
and  Gaston  Sauverand  was  held  yesterday.  And,  mean- 
while, at  any  rate,  we  hold  one  end  of  the  line  and,  through 
that  very  fact,  we  know  Don  Luis  Perenna's  retreat." 

There  was  a  pause,  after  which  the  deputy  chief  resumed 
in  a  more  and  more  solemn  voice: 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  yesterday  I  suffered  a  cruel  out- 
rage at  the  hands  of  that  man.  It  was  witnessed  by  our 
subordinates.  The  servants  must  be  aware  of  it.  The 
public  will  know  of  it  before  long.  This  man  has  brought 


"HELP!"  275 

about  the  escape  of  Florence  Levasseur.  He  tried  to 
bring  about  the  escape  of  Gaston  Sauverand.  He  is  a 
ruffian  of  the  most  dangerous  type.  Monsieur  le  Prefet, 
I  am  sure  that  you  will  not  refuse  me  leave  to  dig  him 
out  of  his  hole.  Otherwise  —  otherwise,  Monsieur  le 
Prefet,  I  shall  feel  obliged  to  hand  in  my  resignation." 

"With  good  reasons  to  back  it  up!"  said  the  Prefect, 
laughing.  "There's  no  doubt  about  it;  you  can't  stomach 
the  trick  of  the  iron  curtain.  Well,  go  ahead!  It's  Don 
Luis's  own  lookout ;  he's  brought  it  on  himself.  Mazeroux, 
ring  me  up  at  the  office  as  soon  as  the  telephone  is  put 
right.  And  both  of  you  meet  me  at  the  Fauvilles'  house 
this  evening.  Don't  forget  it's  the  night  for  the  fourth 
letter." 

"There  won't  be  any  fourth  letter,  Monsieur  le  Prefet," 
said  Weber. 

"Why  not?" 

"Because  between  this  and  then  Don  Luis  will  be  under 
lock  and  key." 

"Oh,  so  you  accuse  Don  Luis  also  of " 

Don  Luis  did  not  wait  to  hear  more.  He  softly  retreated 
to  the  cupboard,  took  hold  of  the  panel  and  pushed  it 
back  without  a  sound. 

So  his  hiding-place  was  known! 

"By  Jingo,"  he  growled,  "this  is  a  bit  awkward!  I'm 
in  a  nice  plight!" 

He  had  run  halfway  along  the  underground  passage, 
with  the  intention  of  reaching  the  other  exit.  But  he 
stopped. 

"It's  not  worth  while,  as  the  exit's  watched.  Well, 
let's  see;  am  I  to  let  myself  be  collared?  Wait  a  bit, 
let  s  see 


276  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

Already  there  came  from  the  alcove  below  a  noise  of 
blows  striking  on  the  panel,  the  hollow  sound  of  which 
had  probably  attracted  the  deputy  chief's  attention.  And, 
as  Weber  was  not  compelled  to  take  the  same  pre- 
cautions as  Don  Luis,  and  seemed  to  be  breaking  down 
the  panel  without  delaying  to  look  for  the  mechanism, 
the  danger  was  close  at  hand. 

"Oh,  hang  it  all!"  muttered  Don  Luis.  "This  is  too 
silly.  What  shall  I  do?  Have  a  dash  at  them?  Ah,  if 
I  had  all  my  strength!" 

But  he  was  exhausted  by  want  of  food.  His  legs  shook 
beneath  him  and  his  brain  seemed  to  lack  its  usual  clear- 
ness. 

The  increasing  violence  of  the  blows  in  the  alcove  drove 
him,  in  spite  of  all,  toward  the  upper  exit;  and,  as  he 
climbed  the  ladder,  he  moved  his  electric  lantern  over  the 
stones  of  the  wall  and  the  wood  of  the  trapdoor.  He 
even  tried  to  lift  the  door  with  his  shoulder.  But  he 
again  heard  a  sound  of  footsteps  above  his  head.  The 
men  were  still  there. 

Then,  consumed  with  fury  and  helpless,  he  awaited  the 
deputy's  coming. 

A  crash  came  from  below;  its  echo  spread  through  the 
tunnel,  followed  by  a  tumult  of  voices. 

"That's  it,"  he  said  to  himself.  "The  handcuffs,  the 
lockup,  the  cell!  Good  Lord,  what  luck  —  and  what 
nonsense!  And  Marie  Fauville,  who's  sure  to  do  away 
with  herself.  And  Florence  —  Florence  — 

Before  extinguishing  his  lantern,  he  cast  its  light  around 
him  for  the  last  time. 

At  a  couple  of  yards'  distance  from  the  ladder,  about 
three  quarters  of  the  way  up  and  set  a  little  way  backf 


"HELP!"  277 

there  was  a  big  stone  missing  from  the  inner  wall,  leaving 
a  space  just  large  enough  to  crouch  in. 

Although  the  recess  did  not  form  much  of  a  hiding-place, 
it  was  just  possible  that  they  might  omit  to  inspect  it. 
Besides,  Don  Luis  had  no  choice.  At  all  events,  after 
putting  out  the  light,  he  leaned  toward  the  edge  of  the 
hole,  reached  it,  and  managed  to  scramble  in  by  bending 
himself  in  two. 

Weber,  Mazeroux,  and  their  men  were  coming  along. 
Don  Luis  propped  himself  against  the  back  of  his  hiding- 
hole  to  avoid  as  far  as  possible  the  glare  of  the  lanterns,  of 
which  he  was  beginning  to  see  the  gleams.  And  an  amaz- 
ing thing  happened:  the  stone  against  which  he  was  pushing 
toppled  over  slowly,  as  though  moving  on  a  pivot,  and  he 
fell  backward  into  a  second  cavity  situated  behind  it. 

He  quickly  drew  his  legs  after  him  and  the  stone  swung 
back  as  slowly  as  before,  not,  however,  without  sending 
down  a  quantity  of  small  stones,  crumbling  from  the  wall 
and  half  covering  his  legs. 

"  Well,  well ! "  he  chuckled.  "  Can  Providence  be  siding 
with  virtue  and  righteousness?" 

He  heard  Mazeroux's  voice  saying: 

"Nobody!  And  here's  the  end  of  the  passage.  Unless 
he  ran  away  as  we  came  —  look,  through  the  trapdoor  at 
the  top  of  this  ladder." 

Weber  replied: 

"Considering  the  slope  by  which  we've  come,  it's  cer- 
tain that  the  trapdoor  is  on  a  level  with  the  second  floor. 
Well,  the  other  little  cross  ought  to  mark  the  boudoir  on 
the  second  floor,  next  to  Don  Luis's  bedroom.  That's 
what  I  supposed,  and  why  I  posted  three  of  our  men  there. 
If  he's  tried  to  get  out  on  that  side,  he's  caught." 


278  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"We've  only  got  to  knock,"  said  Mazeroux.  "Our 
men  will  find  the  trapdoor  and  let  us  out.  If  not,  we  will 
break  it  down." 

More  blows  echoed  down  the  passage.  Fifteen  or 
twenty  minutes  after,  the  trapdoor  gave  way,  and  other 
voices  now  mingled  with  Weber's  and  Mazeroux's. 

During  this  time,  Don  Luis  examined  his  domain  and 
perceived  how  extremely  small  it  was.  The  most  that 
he  could  do  was  to  sit  in  it.  It  was  a  gallery,  or,  rather, 
a  sort  of  gut,  a  yard  and  a  half  long  and  ending  in  an 
orifice,  narrower  still,  heaped  up  with  bricks.  The  walls, 
besides,  were  formed  of  bricks,  some  of  which  were  lacking; 
and  the  building-stones  which  these  should  have  kept 
in  place  crumbled  at  the  least  touch.  The  ground  was 
strewn  with  them. 

"By  Jove!"  thought  Lupin,  "I  must  not  wriggle  about 
too  much,  or  I  shall  risk  being  buried  alive!  A  pleasant 
prospect!" 

Not  only  this,  but  the  fear  of  making  a  noise  kept  him 
motionless.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  was  close  to  two 
rooms  occupied  by  the  detectives,  first  the  boudoir  and 
then  the  study,  for  the  boudoir,  as  he  knew,  was  over 
that  part  of  his  study  which  included  the  telephone  box. 

The  thought  of  this  suggested  another.  On  reflection, 
remembering  that  he  used  sometimes  to  wonder  how  Count 
Malonyi's  ancestress  had  managed  to  keep  alive  behind 
the  curtain  on  the  days  when  she  had  to  hide  there,  he 
realized  that  there  must  have  been  a  communication 
between  the  secret  passage  and  what  was  now  the  tele- 
phone box,  a  communication  too  narrow  to  admit  a  per- 
son's body,  but  serving  as  a  ventilating  shaft. 

As  a  precaution,  in  case  the  secret  passage  was  discov- 


"HELP!"  279 

ered,  a  stone  concealed  the  upper  aperture  of  this  shaft. 
Count  Malonyi  must  have  closed  up  the  lower  end  when 
he  restored  the  wainscoting  of  the  study. 

So  there  he  was,  imprisoned  in  the  thickness  of  the 
walls,  with  no  very  definite  intention  beyond  that  of 
escaping  from  the  clutches  of  the  police.  More  hours 
passed. 

Gradually,  torture4  with  hunger  and  thirst,  he  fell  into 
a  heavy  sleep,  disturbed  by  painful  nightmares  which  he 
would  have  given  much  to  be  able  to  throw  off.  But  he 
slept  too  deeply  to  recover  consciousness  until  eight  o'clock 
in  the  evening. 

When  he  woke  up,  feeling  very  tired,  he  saw  his  posi- 
tion in  an  unexpectedly  hideous  light  and,  at  the  same 
time,  so  accurately  that,  yielding  to  a  sudden  change  of 
opinion  marked  by  no  little  fear,  he  resolved  to  leave  his 
hiding-place  and  give  himself  up.  Anything  was  better 
than  the  torture  which  he  was  enduring  and  the  dangers 
to  which  longer  waiting  exposed  him. 

But,  on  turning  round  to  reach  the  entrance  to  his  hole* 
he  perceived  first  that  the  stone  did  not  swing  over  when 
merely  pushed,  and,  next,  after  several  attempts,  that 
he  could  not  manage  to  find  the  mechanism  which  no 
doubt  worked  the  stone.  He  persisted.  His  exertions 
were  all  in  vain.  The  stone  did  not  budge.  Only,  at 
each  exertion,  a  few  bits  of  stone  came  crumbling  from 
the  upper  part  of  the  wall  and  still  further  narrowed  the 
space  in  which  he  was  able  to  move. 

It  cost  him  a  considerable  effort  to  master  his  excite- 
ment and  to  say,  jokingly: 

"That's  capital!  I  shall  be  reduced  now  to  calling  for 
help.  I,  Arsene  Lupin !  Yes,  to  call  in  the  help  of  those 


280  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

gentlemen  of  the  police.  Otherwise,  the  odds  on  my 
being  buried  alive  will  increase  every  minute.  They're 
ten  to  one  as  it  is!" 

He  clenched  his  fists. 

"Hang  it!  I'll  get  out  of  this  scrape  by  myself!  Call 
for  help?  Not  if  I  know  it!" 

He  summoned  up  all  his  energies  to  think,  but  his  jaded 
brain  gave  him  none  but  confused  and  disconnected  ideas. 
He  was  haunted  by  Florence's  image  and  by  Marie  Fau- 
ville's  as  well. 

"It's  to-night  that  I'm  to  save  them,"  he  said  to  him- 
self. "And  I  certainly  will  save  them,  as  they  are  not 
guilty  and  as  I  know  the  real  criminal.  But  how  shall  I 
set  about  it  to  succeed?" 

He  thought  of  the  Prefect  of  Police,  of  the  meeting  that 
was  to  take  place  at  Fauville's  house  on  the  Boulevard 
Suchet.  The  meeting  had  begun.  The  police  were 
watching  the  house.  And  this  reminded  him  of  the  sheet 
of  paper  found  by  Weber  in  the  eighth  volume  of  Shake- 
speare's plays,  and  of  the  sentence  written  on  it,  which  the 
Prefect  had  read  out: 

"  Bear  in  mind  that  the  explosion  is  independent  of  the  letters, 
and  that  it  will  take  place  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

"Yes,"  thought  Don  Luis,  accepting  M.  Desmalions's 
reasoning,  "yes,  in  ten  days'  time.  As  there  have  been 
only  three  letters,  the  fourth  will  appear  to-night;  and 
the  explosion  will  not  take  place  until  the  fifth  letter  ap- 
pears —  that  is  in  ten  days  from  now." 

He  repeated: 

"  In  ten  days  —  with  the  fifth  letter  —  in  ten  days " 


"HELP!"  281 

And  suddenly  he  gave  a  start  of  fright.  A  horrible 
vision  had  flashed  across  his  mind,  a  vision  only  too  real. 
The  explosion  was  to  occur  that  very  night!  And  all  at 
once,  knowing  that  he  knew  the  truth,  all  at  once,  in  a 
revival  of  his  usual  clear-sightedness,  he  accepted  the 
theory  as  certain. 

No  doubt  only  three  letters  had  appeared  out  of  the 
mysterious  darkness,  but  four  letters  ought  to  have  ap- 
peared, because  one  of  them  had  appeared  not  on  the 
date  fixed,  but  ten  days  later;  and  this  for  a  reason  which 
Don  Luis  knew.  Besides,  it  was  not  a  question  of  all 
this.  It  was  not  a  question  of  seeking  the  truth  amid 
this  confusion  of  dates  and  letters,  amid  this  intricate 
tangle  in  which  no  one  could  lay  claim  to  any  certainty. 

No;  one  thing  alone  stood  out  above  the  situation:  the 
sentence,  "Bear  in  mind  that  the  explosion  is  independent 
of  the  letters."  And,  as  the  explosion  was  put  down  for 
the  night  of  the  twenty -fifth  of  May,  it  would  occur  that 
very  night,  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning! 

"Help!     Help!"  he  cried. 

This  time  he  did  not  hesitate.  So  far,  he  had  had  the 
•courage  to  remain  huddled  in  his  prison  and  to  wait  for 
the  miracle  that  might  come  to  his  assistance;  but  he  pre- 
ferred to  face  every  danger  and  undergo  every  penalty 
rather  than  abandon  the  Prefect  of  Police,  Weber,  Maze- 
roux,  and  their  companions  to  the  death  that  threatened 
them. 

"Help!     Help!" 

Fauville's  house  would  be  blown  up  in  three  or  four 
hours.  That  he  knew  with  the  greatest  certainty.  Just 
as  punctually  as  the  mysterious  letters  had  reached  their 
destination  in  spite  of  all  the  obstacles  in  the  way,  so  the 


explosion  would  occur  at  the  hour  named.  The  infernal 
artificer  of  the  accursed  work  had  wished  it  so.  At  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning  there  would  be  nothing  left  of  the 
Fauvilles'  house. 

"Help!     Help!" 

He  recovered  enough  strength  to  raise  desperate  shouts 
and  to  make  his  voice  carry  beyond  the  stones  and  beyond 
the  wainscoting. 

Then,  when  there  seemed  to  be  no  answer  to  his  call, 
he  stopped  and  listened  for  a  long  time.  There  was  not 
a  sound.  The  silence  was  absolute. 

Thereupon  a  terrible  anguish  covered  him  with  a  cold 
sweat.  Supposing  the  detectives  had  ceased  to  watch 
the  upper  floors  and  confined  themselves  to  spending  the 
night  in  the  rooms  on  the  ground  floor? 

He  madly  took  a  brick  and  struck  it  repeatedly  against 
the  stone  that  closed  the  entrance,  hoping  that  the  noise 
would  spread  through  the  house.  But  an  avalanche  of 
small  stones,  loosened  by  the  blows,  at  once  fell  upon  him, 
knocking  him  down  again  and  fixing  him  where  he  lay. 

"Help!     Help!" 

More  silence  —  a  great,  ruthless  silence. 

"Help!    Help!" 

He  felt  that  his  shouts  did  not  penetrate  the  walls  that 
stifled  him.  Besides,  his  voice  was  growing  fainter  and 
fainter,  producing  a  hoarse  groan  that  died  away  in  his 
strained  throat. 

He  ceased  his  cries  and  again  listened,  with  all  his  anx- 
ious attention,  to  the  great  silence  that  surrounded  as 
with  layers  of  lead  the  stone  coffin  in  which  he  lay  im- 
prisoned. Still  nothing,  not  a  sound.  No  one  would  come, 
no  one  could  come  to  his  assistance. 


"HELP!"  283 

He  continued  to  be  haunted  by  Florence's  name  and 
image.  And  he  thought  also  of  Marie  Fauville,  whom  he 
had  promised  to  save.  But  Marie  would  die  of  starvation. 
And,  like  her,  like  Gaston  Sauverand  and  so  many  others, 
he  in  his  turn  was  the  victim  of  this  monstrous  horror. 

An  incident  occurred  to  increase  his  dismay.  All  of  a 
sudden  his  electric  lantern,  which  he  had  left  alight  to 
dispel  the  terrors  of  the  darkness,  went  out.  It  was  eleven 
o'clock  at  night. 

He  was  overcome  with  a  fit  of  giddiness.  He  could 
hardly  breathe  in  the  close  and  vitiated  air.  His  brain 
suffered,  as  it  were,  a  physical  and  exceedingly  painful 
ailment,  from  the  repetition  of  images  that  seemed  to 
encrust  themselves  there;  and  it  was  always  Florence's 
beautiful  features  or  Marie's  livid  face.  And,  in  his  dis- 
traught brain,  while  Marie  lay  dying,  he  heard  the  ex- 
plosion at  the  Fauvilles'  house  and  saw  the  Prefect  ol 
Police  and  Mazeroux  lying  hideously  mutilated,  dead. 

A  numbness  crept  over  him.  He  fell  into  a  sort  of 
swoon,  in  which  he  continued  to  stammer  confused  sylla- 
bles: 

"Florence  —  Marie  —  Marie " 


CHAPTER  THIRTEEN 

THE   EXPLOSION 

THE  fourth  mysterious  letter!  The  fourth  of  those 
letters  "posted  by  the  devil  and  delivered  by  the 
devil,"  as  one  of  the  newspapers  expressed  it! 

We  all  of  us  remember  the  really  extraordinary  agitation 
of  the  public  as  the  night  of  the  twenty-fifth  of  May  drew 
near.  And  fresh  news  increased  this  interest  to  a  yet 
higher  degree. 

People  heard  in  quick  succession  of  the  arrest  of  Sauve- 
rand,  the  flight  of  his  accomplice,  Florence  Levasseur,  Don 
Luis  Perenna's  secretary,  and  the  inexplicable  disappear- 
ance of  Perenna  himself,  whom  they  insisted,  for  the  best 
of  reasons,  on  identifying  with  Arsene  Lupin. 

The  police,  assured  from  this  moment  of  victory  and 
having  nearly  all  the  actors  in  the  tragedy  in  their  power, 
had  gradually  given  way  to  indiscretion;  and,  thanks  to 
the  particulars  revealed  to  this  or  that  journalist,  the 
public  knew  of  Don  Luis'st  change  of  attitude,  suspected 
his  passion  for  Florence  Levasseur  and  the  real  cause  of 
his  right-about-face,  and  thrilled  with  excitement  as  they 
saw  that  astonishing  figure  enter  upon  a  fresh  struggle. 

What  was  he  going  to  do?  If  he  wanted  to  save  the 
woman  he  loved  from  prosecution  and  to  release  Marie 
and  Sauverand  from  prison,  he  would  have  to  intervene 
some  time  that  night,  to  take  part,  somehow  or  other,  in 

284 


THE  EXPLOSION  285 

the  event  at  hand,  and  to  prove  the  innocence  of  the  three 
accomplices,  either  by  arresting  the  invisible  bearer  of 
the  fourth  letter  or  by  suggesting  some  plausible  explana- 
tion. In  short,  he  would  have  to  be  there;  and  that  was 
interesting  indeed! 

And  then  the  news  of  Marie  Fauville  was  not  good. 
With  unwavering  obstinacy  she  persisted  in  her  suicidal 
plans.  She  had  to  be  artificially  fed;  and  the  doctors  in 
the  infirmary  at  Saint-Lazare  did  not  conceal  their  anxiety. 
Would  Don  Luis  Perenna  arrive  in  time? 

Lastly,  there  was  that  one  other  thing,  the  threat  of  an 
explosion  which  was  to  blow  up  Hippolyte  Fauville's 
house  ten  days  after  the  delivery  of  the  fourth  letter, 
a  really  impressive  threat  when  it  was  remembered  that 
the  enemy  had  never  announced  anything  that  did  not 
take  place  at  the  stated  hour.  And,  although  it  was  still 
ten  days  —  at  least,  so  people  thought  —  from  the  date 
fixed  for  the  catastrophe,  the  threat  made  the  whole  busi- 
ness look  more  and  more  sinister. 

That  evening,  therefore,  a  great  crowd  made  its  way, 
through  La  Muette  and  Auteuil,  to  the  Boulevard  Suchet, 
a  crowd  coming  not  only  from  Paris,  but  also  from  the 
suburbs  and  the  provinces.  The  spectacle  was  exciting, 
and  people  wanted  to  see. 

They  saw  only  from  a  distance,  for  the  police  had  barred 
the  approaches  a  hundred  yards  from  either  side  of  the 
house  and  were  driving  into  the  ditches  of  the  fortifica- 
tions all  those  who  managed  to  climb  the  opposite  slope. 

The  sky  was  stormy,  with  heavy  clouds  revealed  at 
intervals  by  the  light  of  a  silver  moon.  There  were 
lightning-flashes  and  peals  of  distant  thunder.  Men  sang. 
Street-boys  imitated  the  noises  of  animals.  People  formed 


286  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

themselves  into  groups  on  the  benches  and  pavements 
and  ate  and  drank  while  discussing  the  matter. 

A  part  of  the  night  was  spent  in  this  way  and  nothing 
happened  to  reward  the  patience  of  the  crowd,  who  began 
to  wonder,  somewhat  wearily,  if  they  would  not  do  better 
to  go  home,  seeing  that  Sauverand  was  in  prison  and  that 
there  was  every  chance  that  the  fourth  letter  would  not 
appear  in  the  same  mysterious  way  as  the  others. 

And  yet  they  did  not  go:  Don  Luis  Perenna  was  due 
to  come! 

From  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening  the  Prefect  of  Police 
and  his  secretary  general,  the  chief  detective  and  Weber, 
his  deputy,  Sergeant  Mazeroux,  and  two  detectives  were 
gathered  in  the  large  room  in  which  Fauville  had  been 
murdered.  Fifteen  more  detectives  occupied  the  remain- 
ing rooms,  while  some  twenty  others  watched  the  roofs, 
the  outside  of  the  house,  and  the  garden. 

Once  again  a  thorough  search  had  been  made  during 
the  afternoon,  with  no  better  results  than  before.  But 
it  was  decided  that  all  the  men  should  keep  awake.  If  the 
letter  was  delivered  anywhere  in  the  big  room,  they  wanted 
to  know  and  they  meant  to  know  who  brought  it.  The 
police  do  not  recognize  miracles. 

At  twelve  o'clock  M.  Desmalions  had  coffee  served 
to  his  subordinates.  He  himself  took  two  cups  and  never 
ceased  walking  from  one  end  to  the  other  of  the  room,  or 
climbing  the  staircase  that  led  to  the  attic,  or  going  through 
the  passage  and  hall.  Preferring  that  the  watch  should 
be  maintained  under  the  most  favourable  conditions,  he 
left  all  the  doors  opened  and  all  the  electric  lights  on. 

Mazeroux  objected: 

"It  has  to  be  dark  for  the  letter  to  come.     You  will 


THE  EXPLOSION  287 

remember,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  that  the  other  experiment 
was  tried  before  and  the  letter  was  not  delivered." 

"We  will  try  it  again,"  replied  M.  Desmalions,  who,  in 
spite  of  everything,  was  really  afraid  of  Don  Luis's  interfer- 
ence, and  increased  his  measures  to  make  it  impossible. 

Meanwhile,  as  the  night  wore  on,  the  minds  of  all  those 
present  became  impatient.  Prepared  for  the  angry  strug- 
gle as  they  were,  they  longed  for  the  opportunity  to  show 
their  strength.  They  made  desperate  use  of  their  ears 
and  eyes. 

At  one  o'clock  there  was  an  alarm  that  showed  the 
pitch  which  the  nervous  tension  had  reached.  A  shot 
was  fired  on  the  first  floor,  followed  by  shouts.  On  in- 
quiry, it  was  found  that  two  detectives,  meeting  in  the 
course  of  a  round,  had  not  recognized  «each  other,  and 
one  of  them  had  discharged  his  revolver  in  the  air  to  in- 
form his  comrades. 

In  the  meantime  the  crowd  outside  had  diminished, 
as  M.  Desmalions  perceived  on  opening  the  garden  gate. 
The  orders  had  been  relaxed  and  sightseers  were  allowed 
to  come  nearer,  though  they  were  still  kept  at  a  distance 
from  the  pavement. 

Mazerouxsaid: 

"It  is  a  good  thing  that  the  explosion  is  due  in  ten 
days'  time  and  not  to-night,  Monsieur  le  Prefet;  other- 
wise, all  those  good  people  would  be  in  danger  as  well  as 
ourselves." 

"There  will  be  no  explosion  in  ten  days'  time,  any  more 
than  there  will  be  a  letter  to-night,"  said  M.  Desmalions, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  And  he  added,  "Besides,  on 
that  day,  the  orders  will  be  strict." 

It  was  now  ten  minutes  past  two. 


288  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

At  twenty-five  minutes  past,  as  the  Prefect  was  lighting 
a  cigar,  the  chief  detective  ventured  to  joke: 

"That's  something  you  will  have  to  do  without,  next 
time,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  It  would  be  too  risky." 

"Next  time,"  said  M.  Desmalions,  "I  shall  not  waste 
time  in  keeping  watch.  For  I  really  begin  to  think  that 
all  this  business  with  the  letters  is  over." 

"You  can  never  tell,"  suggested  Mazeroux. 

A  few  minutes  more  passed.  M.  Desmalions  had  sat 
down.  The  others  also  were  seated.  No  one  spoke. 

And  suddenly  they  all  sprang  up,  with  one  movement, 
and  the  same  expression  of  surprise. 

A  bell  had  rung. 

They  at  once  heard  where  the  sound  came  from. 

"The  telephone,"  M.  Desmalions  muttered. 

He  took  down  the  receiver. 

"Hullo!     Who  are  you?" 

A  voice  answered,  but  so  distant  and  so  faint  that  he 
could  only  catch  an  incoherent  noise  and  exclaimed: 

"Speak  louder!     What  is  it?     Who  are  you?" 

The  voice  spluttered  out  a  few  syllables  that  seemed  to 
Astound  him. 

"Hullo!"  he  said.  "I  don't  understand.  Please  re- 
peat what  you  said.  Who  is  it  speaking?" 

"Don  Luis  Perenna,"  was  the  answer,  more  distinctly 
this  time. 

The  Prefect  made  as  though  to  hang  up  the  receiver; 
and  he  growled: 

"It's  a  hoax.  Some  rotter  amusing  himself  at  our 
expense." 

Nevertheless,  in  spite  of  himself,  he  went  on  in  a  gruff 
voice: 


THE  EXPLOSION  289 

"Look  here,  what  is  it?  You  say  you're  Don  Luis 
Perenna?" 

"Yes." 

"  What  do  you  want?  " 

"What's  the  time?" 

"What's  the  time!" 

The  Prefect  made  an  angry  gesture,  not  so  much  be- 
cause of  the  ridiculous  question  as  because  he  had  really 
recognized  Don  Luis's  voice  beyond  mistake. 

" Well?  "  he  said,  controlling  himself.  " What's  all  this 
about?  Where  are  you?" 

"At  my  house,  above  the  iron  curtain,  in  the  ceiling 
of  my  study." 

"In  the  ceiling!"  repeated  the  Prefect,  not  knowing 
what  to  think. 

"Yes;  and  more  or  less  done  for,  I  confess." 

"We'll  send  and  help  you  out,"  said  M.  Desmalions, 
who  was  beginning  to  enjoy  himself. 

"Later  on,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  First  answer  me. 
Quickly!  If  not,  I  don't  know  that  I  shall  have  the 
strength.  What's  the  time?" 

"Oh,  look  here!" 

"I  beg  of  you  - 

"It's  twenty  minutes  to  three." 

"Twenty  minutes  to  three!" 

It  was  as  though  Don  Luis  found  renewed  strength  in 
a  sudden  fit  of  fear.  His  weak  voice  recovered  its  em- 
phasis, and,  by  turns  imperious,  despairing,  and  beseech- 
ing, full  of  a  conviction  which  he  did  his  utmost  to  impart 
to  M.  Desmalions,  he  said: 

"Go  away,  Monsieur  le  Prefet!  Go,  all  of  you;  leave 
the  house.  The  house  will  be  blown  up  at  three  o'clock. 


290  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

Yes,  yes,  I  swear  it  will.  Ten  days  after  the  fourth  letter 
means  now,  because  there  has  been  a  ten  days'  delay  in 
the  delivery  of  the  letters.  It  means  now,  at  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  Remember  what  was  written  on  the 
sheet  which  Deputy  Chief  Weber  handed  you  this  morn- 
ing: 'The  explosion  is  independent  of  the  letters.  It 
will  take  place  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning/  At  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning,  to-day,  Monsieur  le  Pref  et ! "  The 
voice  faltered  and  then  continued: 

"Go  away,  please.  Let  no  one  remain  in  the  house. 
You  must  believe  me.  I  know  everything  about  the 
business.  And  nothing  can  prevent  the  threat  from  being 
executed.  Go,  go,  go!  This  is  horrible;  I  feel  that  you 
do  not  believe  me  —  and  I  have  no  strength  left.  Go 
away,  every  one  of  you!" 

He  said  a  few  more  words  which  M.  Desmalions  could 
not  make  out.  Then  the  voice  ceased;  and,  though  the 
Prefect  still  heard  cries,  it  seemed  to  him  that  those  cries 
were  distant,  as  though  the  instrument  were  no  longer 
within  the  reach  of  the  mouth  that  uttered  them. 

He  hung  up  the  receiver. 

"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  with  a  smile,  "it  is  seventeen  to 
three.  In  seventeen  minutes  we  shall  all  be  blown  up 
together.  At  least,  that  is  what  our  good  friend  Don 
Luis  Perenna  declares." 

In  spite  of  the  jokes  with  which  this  threat  was 
met,  there  was  a  general  feeling  of  uneasiness.  Weber 
asked: 

"Was  it  really  Don  Luis,  Monsieur  le  Prefet?" 

"Don  Luis  in  person.  He  has  gone  to  earth  in  some 
hiding-hole  in  his  house,  above  the  study;  and  his  fatigue 
and  privations  seem  to  have  unsettled  him  a  little.  Maze- 


THE  EXPLOSION  291 

roux,  go  and  ferret  him  out  —  unless  this  'is  just  some 
fresh  trick  on  his  part.  You  have  your  warrant." 

Sergeant  Mazeroux  went  up  to  M.  Desmalions.  His 
face  was  pallid. 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  did  he  tell  you  that  we  were  going 
to  be  blown  up?" 

"He  did.  He  relies  on  the  note  which  M.  Weber  found 
in  a  volume  of  Shakespeare.  The  explosion  is  to  take 
place  to-night." 

"At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning?" 

"At  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  —  that  is  to  say,  in 
less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour." 

"And  do  you  propose  to  remain,  Monsieur  le  Prefet?" 

"What  next,  Sergeant?  Do  you  imagine  that  we  are 
going  to  obey  that  gentleman's  fancies?" 

Mazeroux  staggered,  hesitated,  and  then,  despite  all 
his  natural  deference,  unable  to  contain  himself,  exclaimed: 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  it's  not  a  fancy.  I  have  worked 
with  Don  Luis.  I  know  the  man.  If  he  tells  you  that 
something  is  going  to  happen,  it's  because  he  has  his  rea- 
sons." 

"Absurd  reasons." 

"No,  no,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  Mazeroux  pleaded,  grow- 
ing more  and  more  excited.  "I  swear  that  you  must 
listen  to  him.  The  house  will  be  blown  up  —  he  said  so 
—  at  three  o'clock.  We  have  a  few  minutes  left.  Let 
us  go.  I  entreat  you,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"In  other  words,  you  want  us  to  run  away." 

"But  it's  not  running  away,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  It's 

a  simple  precaution.  After  all,  we  can't  risk You, 

yourself,  Monsieur  le  Prefet " 

"That  will  do." 


292  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"But,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  as  Don  Luis  said " 

"That  will  do,  I  say!"  repeated  the  Prefect  harshly. 
"If  you're  afraid,  you  can  take  advantage  of  the  order 
which  I  gave  you  and  go  off  after  Don  Luis." 

Mazeroux  clicked  his  heels  together  and,  old  soldier 
that  he  was,  saluted : 

"I  shall  stay  here,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

And  he  turned  and  went  back  to  his  place  at  a  distance. 

Silence  followed.  M.  Desmalions  began  to  walk  up 
and  down  the  room,  with  his  hands  behind  his  back. 
Then,  addressing  the  chief  detective  and  the  secretary 
general: 

"You  are  of  my  opinion,  I  hope?"  he  said. 

"Why,  yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"Well,  of  course!  To  begin  with,  that  supposition  is 
based  on  nothing  serious.  And,  besides,  we  are  guarded, 
aren't  we?  Bombs  don't  come  tumbling  on  one's  head 
like  that.  It  takes  some  one  to  throw  them.  Well,  how 
are  they  to  come?  By  what  way?" 

"Same  way  as  the  letters,"  the  secretary  general  ven- 
tured to  suggest. 

"What's  that?     Then  you  admit ?" 

The  secretary  general  did  not  reply  and  M.  Desmalions 
did  not  complete  his  sentence.  He  himself,  like  the  others, 
experienced  that  same  feeling  of  uneasiness  which  grad- 
ually, as  the  seconds  sped  past,  was  becoming  almost  in- 
tolerably painful. 

Three  o'clock  in  the  morning!  .  .  .  The  words 
kept  on  recurring  to  his  mind.  Twice  he  looked  at  his 
watch.  There  was  twelve  minutes  left.  There  was 
ten  minutes.  Was  the  house  really  going  to  be  blown 


THE  EXPLOSION  293 

up,  by  the  mere  effect  of  an  infernal  and  all-powerful 
will? 

"It's  senseless,  absolutely  senseless!"  he  cried,  stamp- 
ing his  foot. 

But,  on  looking  at  his  companions,  he  was  amazed  to 
see  how  drawn  their  faces  were;  and  he  felt  his  courage 
sink  in  a  strange  way.  He  was  certainly  not  afraid;  and 
the  others  were  no  more  afraid  than  he.  But  all  of  them, 
from  the  chiefs  to  the  simple  detectives,  were  under  the 
influence  of  that  Don  Luis  Perenna  whom  they  had  seen 
accomplishing  such  extraordinary  feats,  and  who  had 
shown  such  wonderful  ability  throughout  this  mysterious 
adventure. 

Consciously  or  unconsciously,  whether  they  wished  it 
or  no,  they  looked  upon  him  as  an  exceptional  being 
endowed  with  special  faculties,  a  being  of  whom  they 
could  not  think  without  conjuring  up  the  image  of  the 
amazing  Arsene  Lupin,  with  his  legend  of  daring,  genius, 
and  superhuman  insight. 

And  Lupin  was  telling  them  to  fly.  Pursued  and  hunted 
as  he  was,  he  voluntarily  gave  himself  up  to  warn  them 
of  their  danger.  And  the  danger  was  immediate.  Seven 
minutes  more,  six  minutes  more  —  and  the  house  would 
be  blown  up. 

With  great  simplicity,  Mazeroux  went  on  his  knees, 
made  the  sign  of  the  cross,  and  said  his  prayers  in  a  low 
voice.  The  action  was  so  impressive  that  the  secretary 
general  and  the  chief  detective  made  a  movement  as 
though  to  go  toward  the  Prefect  of  Police. 

M.  Desmalions  turned  away  his  head  and  continued 
his  walk  up  and  down  the  room.  But  his  anguish  in- 
creased; and  the  words  which  he  had  heard  over  the  tele- 


phone  rang  in  his  ears;  and  all  Perenna's  authority,  his 
ardent  entreaties,  his  frenzied  conviction  —  all  this  upset 
him.  He  had  seen  Perenna  at  work.  He  felt  it  borne  in 
upon  him  that  he  had  no  right,  in  the  present  circum- 
stances, to  neglect  the  man's  warning. 

"Let's  go,"  he  said. 

The  words  were  spoken  in  the  calmest  manner;  and  it 
really  seemed  as  if  those  who  heard  them  regarded  them 
merely  as  the  sensible  conclusion  of  a  very  ordinary  state 
of  affairs.  They  went  away  without  hurry  or  disorder, 
not  as  fugitives,  but  as  men  deliberately  obeying  the  dic- 
tates of  prudence. 

They  stood  back  at  the  door  to  let  the  Prefect  go  first. 

"No,"  he  said,  "go  on;  I'll  follow  you." 

He  was  the  last  out,  leaving  the  electric  light  full  jn. 

In  the  hall  he  asked  the  chief  detective  to  blow  his 
whistle.  When  all  the  plain-clothesmen  had  assembled, 
he  sent  them  out  of  the  house  together  with  the  porter, 
and  shut  the  door  behind  him.  Then,  calling  the  detec- 
tives who  were  watching  the  boulevard,  he  said: 

"Let  everybody  stand  a  good  distance  away;  push  the 
crowd  as  far  back  as  you  can;  and  be  quick  about  it. 
We  shall  enter  the  house  again  in  half  an  hour." 

"And  you,  Monsieur  le  Prefet?"  whispered  Mazeroux. 
"You  won't  remain  here,  I  hope?" 

"No,  that  I  shan't!"  he  said,  laughing.  "If  I  take  our 
friend  Perenna's  advice  at  all,  I  may  as  well  take  it  thor- 
oughly!" 

"There  is  only  two  minutes  left." 

"Our  friend  Perenna  spoke  of  three  o'clock,  not  of  two 
minutes  to  three.  So " 

He  crossed  the  boulevard,  accompanied  by  his  secre- 


THE  EXPLOSION  295 

tary  general,  the  chief  detective,  and  Mazeroux,  and 
clambered  up  the  slope  of  the  fortifications  opposite  the 
house. 

"Perhaps  we  ought  to  stoop  down,"  suggested  Maze- 
roux. 

"Let's  stoop,  by  all  means,"  said  the  Prefect,  still  in  a 
good  humour.  "But,  honestly,  if  there's  no  explosion, 
I  shall  send  a  bullet  through  my  head.  I  could  not  go 
on  living  after  making  myself  look  so  ridiculous." 

"There  will  be  an  explosion,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  de- 
clared Mazeroux. 

"What  confidence  you  must  have  in  our  friend  Don 
Luis!" 

"You  have  just  the  same  confidence,  Monsieur  le 
Prefet." 

They  were  silent,  irritated  by  the  wait,  and  struggling 
with  the  absurd  anxiety  that  oppressed  them.  They 
counted  the  seconds  singly,  by  the  beating  of  their  hearts. 
It  was  interminable. 

Three  o'clock  sounded  from  somewhere. 

"You  see,"  grinned  M.  Desmalions,  in  an  altered  voice, 
"you  see!  There's  nothing,  thank  goodness!" 

And  he  growled: 

"It's  idiotic,  perfectly  idiotic!  How  could  any  one 
imagine  such  nonsense!" 

Another  clock  struck,  farther  away.  Then  the  hour  also 
rang  from  the  roof  of  a  neighbouring  building. 

Before  the  third  stroke  had  sounded  they  heard  a  kind 
of  cracking,  and,  the  next  moment,  came  the  terrible 
blast,  complete,  but  so  brief  that  they  had  only,  so  to 
speak,  a  vision  of  an  immense  sheaf  of  flames  and  smoke 
shooting  forth  enormous  stones  and  pieces  of  wall,  some- 


296  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

thing  like  the  grand  finale  of  a  fireworks  display.  And  it 
was  all  over.  The  volcano  had  erupted. 

"Look  sharp!"  shouted  the  Prefect  of  Police,  darting 
forward.  "Telephone  for  the  engines,  quick,  in  case  of 
fire!" 

He  caught  Mazeroux  by  the  arm: 

"Run  to  my  motor;  you'll  see  her  a  hundred  yards  down 
the  boulevard.  Tell  the  man  to  drive  you  to  Don  Luis, 
and,  if  you  find  him,  release  him  and  bring  him  here." 

"Under  arrest,  Monsieur  le  Prefet?" 

"Under  arrest?     You're  mad!" 

"But,  if  the  deputy  chief  - 

"The  deputy  chief  will  keep  his  mouth  shut.  I'll  see 
to  that.  Be  off!" 

Mazeroux  fulfilled  his  mission,  not  with  greater  speed 
than  if  he  had  been  sent  to  arrest  Don  Luis,  for  Mazeroux 
was  a  conscientious  man,  but  with  extraordinary  pleasure. 
The  fight  which  he  had  been  obliged  to  wage  against  the 
man  whom  he  still  called  "the  chief"  had  often  distressed 
him  to  the  point  of  tears.  This  time  he  was  coming  to 
help  him,  perhaps  to  save  his  life. 

That  afternoon  the  deputy  chief  had  ceased  his  search 
of  the  house,  by  M.  Desmalions's  orders,  as  Don  Luis's 
escape  seemed  certain,  and  left  only  three  men  on  duty. 
Mazetoux  found  them  in  a  room  on  the  ground  floor, 
where  they  were  sitting  up  in  turns.  In  reply  to  his 
questions,  they  declared  that  they  had  not  heard  a  sound. 

He  went  upstairs  alone,  so  as  to  have  no  witnesses  to 
his  interview  with  the  governor,  passed  through  the  draw- 
ing-room and  entered  the  study. 

Here  he  was  overcome  with  anxiety,  for,  after  turning 
on  the  light,  the  first  glance  revealed  nothing  to  his  eyes. 


THE  EXPLOSION  297 

"  Chief ! "  he  cried,  repeatedly.  " Where  are  you,  Chief?  " 

No  answer. 

"And  yet,"  thought  Mazeroux,  "as  he  telephoned,  he 
can't  be  far  away." 

In  fact,  he  saw  from  where  he  stood  that  the  receiver 
was  hanging  from  its  cord;  and,  going  on  to  the  telephone 
box,  he  stumbled  over  bits  of  brick  and  plaster  that 
strewed  the  carpet.  He  then  switched  on  the  light  in  the 
box  as  well  and  saw  a  hand  and  arm  hanging  from  the 
ceiling  above  him.  The  ceiling  was  broken  up  all  around 
that  arm.  But  the  shoulder  had  not  been  able  to  pass 
through;  and  Mazeroux  could  not  see  the  captive's  head. 

He  sprang  on  to  a  chair  and  reached  the  hand.  He  felt 
it  and  was  reassured  by  the  warmth  of  its  touch. 

"Is  that  you,  Mazeroux?"  asked  a  voice  that  seemed 
to  the  sergeant  to  come  from  very  far  away. 

"Yes,  it's  I.  You're  not  wounded,  are  you?  Nothing 
serious?" 

"No,  only  stunned  —  and  a  bit  faint  —  from  hunger. 
.  .  .  Listen  to  me." 

"I'm  listening." 

"Open  the  second  drawer  on  the  left  in  my  writing- 
desk.  .  .  .  You'll  find " 

"Yes,  Chief?" 

"An  old  stick  of  chocolate." 

"But- 

"Do  as  I  tell  you,  Alexandre;  I'm  famished." 

Indeed,  Don  Luis  recovered  after  a  moment  or  two  and 
said,  in  a  gayer  voice: 

"That's  better.  I  can  wait  now.  Go  to  the  kitchen 
and  fetch  me  some  bread  and  some  water." 

"I'll  be  back  at  once,  Chief." 


298  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Not  this  way.  Come  back  by  Florence  Levasseur's 
room  and  the  secret  passage  to  the  ladder  which  leads  to 
the  trapdoor  at  the  top." 

And  he  told  him  how  to  make  the  stone  swing  out  and 
how  to  enter  the  hollow  in  which  he  had  expected  to  meet 
with  such  a  tragic  end. 

The  thing  was  done  in  ten  minutes.  Mazeroux  cleared 
the  opening,  caught  hold  of  Don  Luis  by  the  legs  and 
pulled  him  out  of  his  hole. 

"Oh,  dear,  oh  dear!"  he  moaned,  in  a  voice  full  of  pity. 
"What  a  position,  Chief!  How  did  you  manage  it  all? 
Yes,  I  see:  you  must  have  dug  down,  where  you  lay,  and 
gone  on  ^digging  —  for  more  than  a  yard !  And  it  took 
some  pluck,  I  expect,  on  an  empty  stomach!" 

When  Don  Luis  was  seated  in  his  bedroom  and  had 
swallowed  a  few  bits  of  bread  and  drunk  what  he  wanted, 
he  told  his  story: 

"Yes,  it  took  the  devil's  own  pluck,  old  man.  By 
Jingo!  when  a  chap's  ideas  are  whirling  in  his  head  and 
he  can't  use  his  brain,  upon  my  word,  all  he  asks  is  to  die! 
And  then  there  was  no  air,  you  see.  I  couldn't  breathe. 
I  went  on  digging,  however,  as  you  saw,  went  on  digging 
while  I  was  half  asleep,  in  a  sort  of  nightmare.  Just  look: 
my  fingers  are  in  a  jelly.  But  there,  I  was  thinking  of 
that  confounded  business  of  the  explosion  and  I  wanted  to 
warn  you  at  all  costs,  and  I  dug  away  at  my  tunnel. 
What  a  job!  And  then,  oof !  I  felt  space  at  last! 

"I  got  my  hand  through  and  next  my  arm.  Where 
was  I?  Why,  over  the  telephone,  of  course !  I  knew  that 
at  once  by  feeling  the  wall  and  finding  the  wires.  Then 
it  took  me  quite  half  an  hour  to  get  hold  of  the  instrument, 
I  couldn't  reach  it  with  my  arm. 


THE  EXPLOSION  299 

i 

"I  managed  at  last  with  a  piece  of  string  and  a  slip- 
knot to  fish  up  the  receiver  and  hold  it  near  my  mouth, 
or,  say,  at  ten  inches  from  my  mouth.  And  then  I 
shouted  and  roared  to  make  my  voice  carry;  and,  all  the 
time,  I  was  in  pain.  And  then,  at  last,  my  string  broke. 
.  .  .  And  then  —  and  then  —  I  hadn't  an  ounce  of 
strength  left  in  my  body.  Besides,  you  fellows  had  been 
warned;  and  it  was  for  you  to  get  yourselves  out  of  the 
mess." 

He  looked  at  Mazeroux  and  asked  him,  as  though  cer- 
tain of  the  reply: 

"The  explosion  took  place,  didn't  it?" 

"Yes,  Chief." 

"At  three  o'clock  exactly?" 

"Yes." 

"And  of  course  M.  Desmalions  had  the  house  cleared?" 

"Yes." 

"At  the  last  minute?" 

"At  the  last  minute." 

Don  Luis  laughed  and  said: 

"I  knew  he  would  wait  about  and  not  give  way  until 
the  crucial  moment.  You  must  have  had  a  bad  time  of 
it,  my  poor  Mazeroux,  for  of  course  you  agreed  with  me 
from  the  start." 

He  kept  on  eating  while  he  talked;  and  each  mouthful 
seemed  to  bring  back  a  little  of  his  usual  animation. 

"Funny  thing,  hunger!"  he  said.  "Makes  you  feel  so 
light-headed.  I  must  practise  getting  used  to  it,  how- 
ever." 

"At  any  rate,  Chief,  no  one  would  believe  that  you 
have  been  fasting  for  nearly  forty-eight  hours." 

"Ah,  that  comes  of  having  a  sound  constitution,  with 


300  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

something  to  fall  back  upon!  I  shall  be  a  different  man 
in  half  an  hour.  Just  give  me  time  to  shave  and  have  a 
bath." 

When  he  had  finished  dressing,  he  sat  down  to  the 
breakfast  of  eggs  and  cold  meat  which  Mazeroux  had  pre- 
pared for  him;  and  then,  getting  up,  said: 

"Now,  let's  be  off." 

"But  there's  no  hurry,  Chief.  Why  don't  you  lie  down 
for  a  few  hours?  The  Prefect  can  wait." 

"You're  mad!    What  about  Marie  Fauville?" 

"Marie  Fauville?" 

"Why,  of  course!  Do  you  think  I'm  going  to  leave 
her  in  prison,  or  Sauverand,  either?  There's  not  a  second 
to  lose,  old  chap." 

Mazeroux  thought  to  himself  that  the  chief  had  not 
quite  recovered  his  wits  yet.  What?  Release  Marie  Fau- 
ville and  Sauverand,  one,  two,  three,  just  like  that!  No, 
no,  it  was  going  a  bit  too  far. 

However,  he  took  down  to  the  Prefect's  car  a  new  Pe- 
renna,  merry,  brisk,  and  as  fresh  as  though  he  had  just 
got  out  of  bed. 

"Very  flattering  to  my  pride,"  said  Don  Luis  to  Maze- 
roux, "most  flattering,  that  hesitation  of  the  Prefect's, 
after  I  had  warned  him  over  the  telephone,  followed  by 
his  submission  at  the  decisive  moment.  What  a  hold  I 
must  have  on  all  those  jokers,  to  make  them  sit  up  at  a 
sign  from  little  me!  'Beware,  gentlemen!'  I  telephone 
to  them  from  the  bottomless  pit.  'Beware!  At  three 
o'clock,  a  bomb!'  'Nonsense!'  say  they.  'Not  a  bit  of 
it!' say  I.  'How  do  you  know?'  'Because  I  do.'  'But 
what  proof  have  you?'  'What  proof?  That  I  say  so.* 
'  Oh,  well,  of  course,  if  you  say  so ! '  And,  at  five  minutes 


THE  EXPLOSION  301 

to  three,  out  they  march.  Ah,  if  I  wasn't  built  up  of 
modesty " 

They  came  to  the  Boulevard  Suchet,  where  the  crowd 
was  so  dense  that  they  had  to  alight  from  the  car.  Maze- 
roux  passed  through  the  cordon  of  police  protecting  the 
approaches  to  the  house  and  took  Don  Luis  to  the  slope 
across  the  road. 

"Wait  for  me  here,  Chief.  I'll  tell  the  Prefect  of 
Police." 

On  the  other  side  of  the  boulevard,  under  the  pale  morn- 
ing sky  in  which  a  few  black  clouds  still  lingered,  Don 
Luis  saw  the  havoc  wrought  by  the  explosion.  It  was 
apparently  not  so  great  as  he  had  expected.  Some  of 
the  ceilings  had  fallen  in  and  their  rubbish  showed  through 
the  yawning  cavities  o^  the  windows;  but  the  house  re- 
mained standing.  Even  Fauville's  built-out  annex  had 
not  suffered  overmuch,  and,  strange  to  say,  the  electric 
light,  which  the  Prefect  had  left  burning  on  his  departure, 
had  not  gone  out.  The  garden  and  the  road  were  covered 
with  stacks  of  furniture,  over  which  a  number  of  soldiers 
and  police  kept  watch. 

"Come  with  me,  Chief,"  said  Mazeroux,  as  he  fetched 
Don  Luis  and  led  him  toward  the  engineer's  workroom. 

A  part  of  the  floor  was  demolished.  The  outer  walls 
on  the  left,  near  the  passage,  were  cracked;  and  two 
workmen  were  fixing  up  beams,  brought  from  the  nearest 
timber  yard,  to  support  the  ceiling.  But,  on  the  whole, 
the  explosion  had  not  had  the  results  which  the  man  who 
prepared  it  must  have  anticipated. 

M.  Desmalions  was  there,  together  with  all  the  men 
who  had  spent  the  night  in  the  room  and  several  important 
persons  from  the  public  prosecutor's  office.  Weber,  the 


302  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

deputy  chief  detective,  alone  had  gone,  refusing  to  meet 
his  enemy. 

Don  Luis's  arrival  caused  great  excitement.  The  Pre- 
fect at  once  came  up  to  him  and  said : 

"All  our  thanks,  Monsieur.  Your  insight  is  above 
praise.  You  have  saved  our  lives;  and  these  gentlemen 
and  I  wish  to  tell  you  so  most  emphatically.  In  my  case, 
it  is  the  second  time  that  I  have  to  thank  you." 

"There  is  a  very  simple  way  of  thanking  me,  Monsieur 
le  Prefet,"  said  Don  Luis,  "and  that  is  to  allow  me  to 
carry  out  my  task  to  the  end." 

"Your  task?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  My  action  of  last  night  is 
only  the  beginning.  The  conclusion  is  the  release  of  Marie 
Fauville  and  Gaston  Sauverand." 

M.  Desmalions  smiled. 

"Oh!" 

"Am  I  asking  too  much,  Monsieur  le  Prefet?" 

"One  can  always  ask,  but  the  request  should  be  rea- 
sonable. And  the  innocence  of  those  people  does  not  de- 
pend on  me." 

"No;  but  it  depends  on  you,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  to  let 
them  know  if  I  prove  their  innocence  to  you." 

"Yes,  I  agree,  if  you  prove  it  beyond  dispute." 

"Just  so." 

Don  Luis's  calm  assurance  impressed  M.  Desmalions 
in  spite  of  everything  and  even  more  than  on  the  former 
occasions;  and  he  suggested: 

"The  results  of  the  hasty  inspection  which  we  have 
made  will  perhaps  help  you.     For  instance,  we  are  certain 
that  the  bomb  was  placed  by  the  entrance  to  the  passage 
and  probably  under  the  boards  of  the  floor." 
t 


THE  EXPLOSION  303 

"Please  do  not  trouble,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  These  are 
only  secondary  details.  The  great  thing  now  is  that  you 
should  know  the  whole  truth,  and  that  not  only  through 
words." 

The  Prefect  had  come  closer.  The  magistrate  and 
detectives  were  standing  round  Don  Luis,  watching  his 
lips  and  movements  with  feverish  impatience.  Was  it 
possible  that  that  truth,  as  yet  so  remote  and  vague,  in 
spite  of  all  the  importance  which  they  attached  to  the 
arrests  already  effected,  was  known  at  last? 

It  was  a  solemn  moment.  Every  one  was  on  tenter- 
hooks. The  manner  in  which  Don  Luis  had  foretold  the 
explosion  lent  the  value  of  an  accomplished  fact  to  his 
predictions;  and  the  men  whom  he  had  saved  from  the 
terrible  catastrophe  were  almost  ready  to  accept  as  cer- 
tainties the  most  improbable  statements  which  a  man  of 
his  stamp  might  make. 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  he  said,  "you  waited  in  vain 
last  night  for  the  fourth  letter  to  make  its  appearance. 
We  shall  now  be  able,  by  an  unexpected  miracle  of  chance, 
to  be  present  at  the  delivery  of  the  letter.  You  will  then 
know  that  it  was  the  same  hand  that  committed  all  the 
crimes  —  and  you  will  know  whose  hand  that  was." 

And,  turning  to  Mazeroux: 

"Sergeant,  will  you  please  make  the  room  as  dark  as  you 
can?  The  shutters  are  gone;  but  you  might  draw  the  cur- 
tains across  the  windows  and  close  the  doors.  Monsieur 
le  Prefet,  is  it  by  accident  that  the  electric  light  is  on?  " 

"Yes,  by  accident.     We  will  have  it  turned  out." 

"One  moment.  Have  any  of  you  gentlemen  a  pocket 
lantern  about  you?  Or,  no,  it  doesn't  matter.  This  will 
do." 


304  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

There  was  a  candle  in  a  sconce.     He  took  it  and  lit  it. 

Then  he  switched  off  the  electric  light. 

There  was  a  half  darkness,  amid  which  the  flame  of  the 
candle  flickered  in  the  draught  from  the  windows.  Don 
Luis  protected  the  flame  with  his  hand  and  moved  to  the 
table. 

"I  do  not  think  that  we  shall  be  kept  waiting  long,"  he 
said.  "As  I  foresee  it,  there  will  be  only  a  few  seconds 
before  the  facts  speak  for  themselves  and  better  than  I 
could  do." 

Those  few  seconds,  during  which  no  one  broke  the  si- 
lence, were  unforgettable.  M.  Desmalions  has  since  de- 
clared, in  an  interview  in  which  he  ridicules  himself  very 
cleverly,  that  his  brain,  over-stimulated  by  the  fatigues 
of  the  night  and  by  the  whole  scene  before  him,  imagined 
the  most  unlikely  events,  such  as  an  invasion  of  the  house 
by  armed  assailants,  or  the  apparition  of  ghosts  and  spirits. 

He  had  the  curiosity,  however,  he  said,  to  watch  Don 
Luis.-  Sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  table,  with  his  head 
thrown  a  little  back  and  his  eyes  roaming  over  the  ceiling, 
Don  Luis  was  eating  a  piece  of  bread  and  nibbling  at  a 
cake  of  chocolate.  He  seemed  very  hungry,  but  quite  at 
his  ease. 

The  others  maintained  that  tense  attitude  which  we 
put  on  at  moments  of  great  physical  effort.  Their  faces 
were  distorted  with  a  sort  of  grimace.  They  were  haunted 
by  the  memory  of  the  explosion  as  well  as  obsessed  by 
what  was  going  to  happen.  The  flame  of  the  candle  cast 
shadows  on  the  wall. 

More  seconds  elapsed  than  Don  Luis  Perenna  had  said, 
thirty  or  forty  seconds,  perhaps,  that  seemed  endless. 
Then  Perenna  lifted  the  candle  a  little  and  said: 


THE  EXPLOSION  305 

"There  you  are." 

They  had  all  seen  what  they  now  saw  almost  as  soon 
as  he  spoke.  A  letter  was  descending  from  the  ceiling. 
It  spun  round  slowly,  like  a  leaf  falling  from  a  tree  without 
being  driven  by  the  wind.  It  just  touched  Don  Luis  and 
alighted  on  the  floor  between  two  legs  of  the  table. 

Picking  up  the  paper  and  handing  it  to  M.  Desmalions, 
Don  Luis  said: 

"There  you  are,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  This  is  the  fourth 
letter,  due  last  night." 


CHAPTER  FOURTEEN 

THE  "HATER" 

MDESMALIONS  looked  at  him  without  under- 
standing, and  looked  from  him  to  the  ceiling. 
•  Perenna  said: 

"Oh,  there's  no  witchcraft  about  it;  and,  though  no  one 
has  thrown  that  letter  from  above,  though  there  is  not  the 
smallest  hole  in  the  ceiling,  the  explanation  is  quite  simple ! " 

"Quite  simple,  is  it?"  said  M.  Desmalions. 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Pref  et.  It  all  looks  like  an  extremely 
complicated  conjuring  trick,  done  almost  for  fun.  Well, 
I  say  that  it  is  quite  simple  —  and,  at  the  same  time,  ter- 
ribly tragic.  Sergeant  Mazeroux,  would  you  mind  drawing 
back  the  curtains  and  giving  us  as  much  light  as  possi- 
ble?" 

While  Mazeroux  was  executing  his  orders  and  M.  Des- 
malions glancing  at  the  fourth  letter,  the  contents  of 
which  were  unimportant  and  merely  confirmed  the  pre- 
vious ones,  Don  Luis  took  a  pair  of  steps  which  the  work- 
men had  left  in  the  corner,  set  it  up  in  the  middle  of  the 
room  and  climbed  to  the  top,  where,  seated  astride,  he 
was  able  to  reach  the  electric  chandelier. 

It  consisted  of  a  broad,  circular  band  in  brass,  beneath 
which  was  a  festoon  of  crystal  pendants.  Inside  were 
three  lamps  placed  at  the  corners  of  a  brass  triangle  con- 
cealing the  wires: 

809 


THE  "HATER"  307 

He  uncovered  the  wires  and  cut  them.  Then  be  began 
to  take  the  whole  fitting  to  pieces.  To  hasten  matters, 
he  asked  for  a  hammer  and  broke  up  the  plaster  all  round 
the  clamps  that  held  the  chandelier  in  position. 

"Lend  me  a  hand,  please,"  he  said  to  Mazeroux. 

Mazeroux  went  up  the  steps;  and  between  them  they 
took  hold  of  the  chandelier  and  let  it  slide  down  the  up- 
rights. The  detectives  caught  it  and  placed  it  on  the 
table  with  some  difficulty,  for  it  was  much  heavier  than 
it  looked. 

On  inspection,  it  proved  to  be  surmounted  by  a  cubical 
metal  box,  measuring  about  eight  inches  square,  which 
box,  being  fastened  inside  the  ceiling  between  the  iron 
clamps,  had  obliged  Don  Luis  to  knock  away  the  plaster 
that  concealed  it. 

"What  the  devil's  this?"  exclaimed  M.  Desmalions. 

"Open  it  for  yourself,  Monsieur  le  Prefet:  there's  a  lid 
to  it,"  said  Perenna. 

M.  Desmalions  raised  the  lid.  The  box  was  filled  with 
springs  and  wheels,  a  whole  complicated  and  detailed  mech^ 
anism  resembling  a  piece  of  clockwork. 

"By  your  leave,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  said  Don  Luis. 

He  took  out  one  piece  of  machinery  and  discovered 
another  beneath  it,  joined  to  the  first  by  the  gearing  of 
two  wheels;  and  the  second  was  more  like  one  of  those 
automatic  apparatuses  which  turn  out  printed  slips. 

Right  at  the  bottom  of  the  box,  just  where  the  box 
touched  the  ceiling,  was  a  semicircular  groove,  and  at  the 
edge  of  it  was  a  letter  ready  for  delivery. 

"The  last  of  the  five  letters,"  said  Don  Luis,  "doubtless 
continuing  the  series  of  denunciations.  You  will  notice, 
Monsieur  le  Prefet,  that  the  chandelier  originally  had  a 


308  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

fourth  lamp  in  the  centre.  It  was  obviously  removed 
when  the  chandelier  was  altered,  so  as  to  make  room  for 
the  letters  to  pass." 

He  continued  his  detailed  explanations: 

"So  the  whole  set  of  letters  was  placed  here,  at  the 
bottom.  A  clever  piece  of  machinery,  controlled  by  clock- 
work, took  them  one  by  one  at  the  appointed  time,  pushed 
them  to  the  edge  of  the  groove  concealed  between  the 
lamps  and  the  pendants,  and  projected  them  into  space." 

None  of  those  standing  around  Don  Luis  spoke,  and 
all  of  them  seemed  perhaps  a  little  disappointed.  The 
whole  thing  was  certainly  very  clever;  but  they  had  ex- 
pected something  better  than  a  trick  of  springs  and  wheels, 
however  surprising. 

"  Have  patience,  gentlemen,"  said  Don  Luis.  "  I  prom- 
ised you  something  ghastly;  and  you  shall  have  it." 

"Well,  I  agree,"  said  the  Prefect  of  Police,  "that  this 
is  where  the  letters  started  from.  But  a  good  many.points 
remain  obscure;  and,  apart  from  this,  there  is  one  fact  in 
particular  which  it  seems  impossible  to  understand.  How 
were  the  criminals  able  to  adapt  the  chandelier  in  this 
way?  And,  in  a  house  guarded  by  the  police,  in  a  room 
watched  night  and  day,  how  were  they  able  to  carry  out 
such  a  piece  of  work  without  being  seen  or  heard?" 

"The  answer  is  quite  easy,  Monsieur  le  Prefet:  the 
work  was  done  before  the  house  was  guarded  by  the 
police." 

"Before  the  murder  was  committed,  therefore?" 

"Before  the  murder  was  committed."  ,  . 

"And  what  is  to  prove  to  me  that  that  is  so?" 

"You  have  said  so  yourself,  Monsieur  le  Prefet:  be- 
cause it  could  not  have  been  otherwise." 


THE  "HATER"  309 

"But  do  explain  yourself,  Monsieur!"  cried  M.  Des- 
malions,  with  a  gesture  of  irritation.  "If  you  have  im- 
portant things  to  tell  us,  why  delay?" 

"  It  is  better,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  that  you  should  arrive 
at  the  truth  in  the  same  way  as  I  did.  When  you  know 
the  secret  of  the  letters,  the  truth  is  much  nearer  than  you 
think;  and  you  would  have  already  named  the  criminal 
if  the  horror  of  his  crime  had  not  been  so  great  as  to 
divert  all  suspicion  from  him." 

M.  Desmalions  looked  at  him  attentively.  He  felt  the 
importance  of  Perenna's  every  word  and  he  was  really 
anxious. 

"Then,  according  to  you,"  he  said,  "those  letters  ac- 
cusing Madame  Fauville  and  Gaston  Sauverand  were 
placed  there  with  the  sole  object  of  ruining  both  of  them?  " 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"And,  as  they  were  placed  there  before  the  crime,  the 
plot  must  have  been  schemed  before  the  murder?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  before  the  murder.  From 
the  moment  that  we  admit  the  innocence  of  Mme.  Fau- 
ville and  Gaston  Sauverand,  we  are  obliged  to  conclude 
that,  as  everything  accuses  them,  this  is  due  to  a  series 
of  deliberate  acts.  Mme.  Fauville  was  out  on  the  night 
of  the  murder:  a  plot!  She  was  unable  to  say  how  she 
spent  her  time  while  the  murder  was  being  committed:  a 
plot !  Her  inexplicable  drive  in  the  direction  of  La  Muette 
and  her  cousin  Sauverand's  walk  in  the  neighbourhood 
of  the  house:  plots!  The  marks  left  in  the  apple  by  those 
teeth,  by  Mme.  Fauville's  own  teeth :  a  plot  and  the  most 
infernal  of  all! 

"I  tell  you,  everything  is  plotted  beforehand,  every- 
thing is,  so  to  speak,  prepared,  measured  out,  labelled, 


310  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

and  numbered.  Everything  takes  place  at  the  appointed 
time.  Nothing  is  left  to  chance.  It  is  a  work  very  nicely 
pieced  together,  worthy  of  the  most  skilful  artisan,  so 
solidly  constructed  that  outside  happenings  have  not  been 
able  to  throw  it  out  of  gear;  and  that  the  scheme  works 
exactly,  precisely,  imperturbably,  like  the  clockwork  in 
this  box,  which  is  a  perfect  symbol  of  the  whole  business 
and,  at  the  same  time,  gives  a  most  accurate  explanation 
of  it,  because  the  letters  denouncing  the  murderers  were 
duly  posted  before  the  crime  and  delivered  after  the  crime 
on  the  dates  and  at  the  hours  foreseen." 

M.  Desmalions  remained  thinking  for  a  time  and  then 
objected: 

"Still,  in  the  letters  which  he  wrote,  M.  Fauville  ac- 
cuses his  wife." 

"He  does." 

"We  must  therefore  admit  either  that  he  was  right  in 
accusing  her  or  that  the  letters  are  forged?" 

"They  are  not  forged.  All  the  experts  have  recognized 
M.  Fauville's  handwriting." 

"Then?" 

"Then " 

Don  Luis  did  not  finish  his  sentence;  and  M.  Desmalions 
felt  the  breath  of  the  truth  fluttering  still  nearer  round  him. 

The  others,  one  and  all  as  anxious  as  himself,  were  si- 
lent. He  muttered: 

"I  do  not  understand " 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  you  do.  You  understand 
that,  if  the  sending  of  those  letters  forms  an  integrant 
part  of  the  plot  hatched  against  Mme.  Fauville  and  Gas- 
ton  Sauverand,  it  is  because  their  contents  were  prepared 
in  such  a  way  as  to  be  the  undoing  of  the  victims," 


THE   "HATER"  311 

"What!    What!     What  are  you  saying?" 

"I  am  saying  what  I  said  before.  Once  they  are  inno- 
cent, everything  that  tells  against  them  is  part  of  the 
plot." 

Again  there  was  a  long  silence.  The  Prefect  of  Police 
did  not  conceal  his  agitation.  Speaking  very  slowly,  with 
his  eyes  fixed  on  Don  Luis's  eyes,  he  said : 

"Whoever  the  culprit  may  be,  I  know  nothing  more 
terrible  than  this  work  of  hatred." 

"It  is  an  even  more  improbable  work  than  you  can 
imagine,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  said  Perenna,  with  growing 
animation,  "and  it  is  a  hatred  of  which  you,  who  do  not 
know  Sauverand's  confession,  cannot  yet  estimate  the 
violence.  I  understood  it  completely  as  I  listened  to  the 
man;  and,  since  then,  all  my  thoughts  have  been  over- 
powered by  the  dominant  idea  of  that  hatred.  Who  could 
hate  like  that?  To  whose  loathing  had  Marie  Fauville 
and  Sauverand  been  sacrificed?  Who  was  the  incon- 
ceivable person  whose  perverted  genius  had  surrounded 
his  two  victims  with  chains  so  powerfully  forged? 

"And  another  idea  came  to  my  mind,  an  earlier  idea 
which  had  already  struck  me  several  times  and  to  which 
I  have  already  referred  in  Sergeant  Mazeroux's  presence? 
I  mean  the  really  mathematical  character  of  the  appear- 
ance of  the  letters.  I  said  to  myself  that  such  grave  docu* 
ments  could  not  be  introduced  into  the  case  at  fixed  dates 
unless  some  primary  reason  demanded  that  those  datea 
should  absolutely  be  fixed.  What  reason?  If  a  human 
agency  had  been  at  work  each  time,  there  would  surely 
have  been  some  irregularity  dependent  on  this  especially 
after  the  police  had  become  cognizant  of  the  matter  and 
were  present  at  the  delivery  of  the  letters. 


312  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Well,"  Perenna  continued,  "in  spite  of  every  obstacle, 
the  letters  continued  to  come,  as  though  they  could  not 
help  it.  And  thus  the  reason  of  their  coming  gradually 
dawned  upon  me:  they  came  mechanically,  by  some  in- 
visible process  set  going  once  and  for  all  and  working  with 
the  blind  certainty  of  a  physical  law.  This  was  a  case 
not  of  a  conscious  intelligence  and  will,  but  just  of  material 
necessity.  ...  It  was  the  clash  of  these  two  ideas 

—  the  idea  of  the  hatred  pursuing  the  innocent  and  the 
idea  of  that  machinery  serving  the  schemes  of  the  '  hater ' 

—  it  was  their  clash  that  gave  birth  to  the  little  spark  of 
light.     When  brought  into  contact,  the  two  ideas  com- 
bined in  my  mind  and  suggested  the  recollection  that 
Hippolyte  Fauville  was  an  engineer  by  profession!" 

The  others  listened  to  him  with  a  sort  of  uneasy  op- 
pression. What  was  gradually  being  revealed  of  the  trag- 
edy, instead  of  relieving  the  anxiety,  increased  it  until  it 
became  absolutely  painful. 

M.  Desmalions  objected: 

"Granting  that  the  letters  arrived  on  the  dates  named, 
you  will  nevertheless  have  noted  that  the  hour  varied 
on  each  occasion." 

"That  is  to  say,  it  varied  according  as  we  watched  in 
the  dark  or  not,  and  that  is  just  the  detail  which  supplied 
me  with  the  key  to  the  riddle.  If  the  letters  —  and  this 
was  an  indispensable  precaution,  which  we  are  now  able 
to  understand  —  were  delivered  only  under  cover  of  the 
darkness,  it  must  be  because  a  contrivance  of  some  kind 
prevented  them  from  appearing  when  the  electric  light 
was  on,  and  because  that  contrivance  was  controlled  by  a 
switch  inside  the  room.  There  is  no  other  explanation 
possible. 


THE   "HATER"  313 

"We  have  to  do  with  an  automatic  distributor  that 
delivers  the  incriminating  letters  which  it  contains  by 
clockwork,  releasing  them  only  between  this  hour  and 
that  on  such  and  such  a  night  fixed  in  advance  and  only 
at  times  when  the  electric  light  is  off.  You  have  the 
apparatus  before  you.  No  doubt  the  experts  will  admire 
its  ingenuity  and  confirm  my  assertions.  But,  given  the 
fact  that  it  was  found  in  the  ceiling  of  this  room,  given 
the  fact  that  it  contained  letters  written  by  M.  Fauville, 
am  I  not  entitled  to  say  that  it  was  constructed  by  M. 
Fauville,  the  electrical  engineer?" 

Once  more  the  name  of  M.  Fauville  returned,  like  an 
obsession;  and  each  time  the  name  stood  more  clearly 
defined.  It  was  first  M.  Fauville;  then  M.  Fauville,  the 
engineer;  then  M.  Fauville,  the  electrical  engineer.  And 
thus  the  picture  of  the  "hater,"  as  Don  Luis  said,  ap- 
peared in  its  accurate  outlines,  giving  those  men,  used 
though  they  were  to  the  strangest  criminal  monstrosities, 
a  thrill  of  terror.  The  truth  was  now  no  longer  prowling 
around  them.  They  were  already  fighting  with  it,  as 
you  fight  with  an  adversary  whom  you  do  not  see  but 
who  clutches  you  by  the  throat  and  brings  you  to  the 
ground. 

And  the  Prefect  of  Police,  summing  up  all  his  impres- 
sions, said,  in  a  strained  voice: 

"So  M.  Fauville  wrote  those  letters  in  order  to  ruin 
his  wife  and  the  man  who  was  in  love  with  her?" 

"Yes." 

"In  that  case " 

"What?" 

"Knowing,  at  the  same  time,  that  he  was  threatened 
with  death,  he  wished,  if  ever  the  threat  was  realized, 


314  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

that  his  death  should  be  laid  to  the  charge  of  his  wife  and 
her  friend?" 

"Yes." 

"And,  in  order  to  avenge  himself  on  their  love  for  each 
other  and  to  gratify  his  hatred  of  them  both,  he  wanted 
the  whole  set  of  facts  to  point  to  them  as  guilty  of  the 
murder  of  which  he  would  be  the  victim?" 

"Yes." 

"So  that  —  so  that  M.  Fauville,  in  one  part  of  his 
accursed  work,  was  —  what  shall  I  say?  —  the  accomplice 
of  his  own  murder.  He  dreaded  death.  He  struggled 
against  it.  But  he  arranged  that  his  hatred  should  gain 
by  it.  That's  it,  isn't  it?  That's  how  it  is?  " 

"Almost,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  You  are  following  the 
same  stages  by  which  I  travelled  and,  like  myself,  you  are 
hesitating  before  the  last  truth,  before  the  truth  which 
gives  the  tragedy  its  sinister  character  and  deprives  it  of 
all  human  proportions." 

The  Prefect  struck  the  table  with  his  two  fists  and,  in 
a  sudden  fit  of  revolt,  cried: 

"It's  ridiculous!  It's  a  perfectly  preposterous  theory! 
M.  Fauville  threatened  with  death  and  contriving  his 
wife's  ruin  with  that  Machiavellian  perseverance?  Ab- 
surd! The  man  who  came  to  my  office,  the  man  whom 
you  saw,  was  thinking  of  only  one  thing:  how  to  escape 
dying!  He  was  obsessed  by  one  dread  alone,  the  dread 
of  death. 

"It  is  not  at  such  moments,"  the  Prefect  emphasized, 
"that  a  man  fits  up  clockwork  and  lays  traps,  especially 
when  those  traps  cannot  take  effect  unless  he  dies  by  foul 
play.  Can  you  see  M.  Fauville  working  at  his  automatic 
machine,  putting  in  with  his  own  hands  letters  which  he 


THE  "HATER"  315 

has  taken  the  pains  to  write  to  a  friend  three  months  be- 
fore and  intercept,  arranging  events  so  that  his  wife  shall 
appear  guilty  and  saying,  'There!  If  I  die  murdered, 
I'm  easy  in  my  mind:  the  person  to  be  arrested  will  be 
Marie!' 

"No,  you  must  confess,  men  don't  take  these  gruesome 
precautions.  Or,  if  they  do  —  if  they  do,  it  means  that 
they're  sure  of  being  murdered.  It  means  that  they  agree 
to  be  murdered.  It  means  that  they  are  at  one  with  the 
murderer,  so  to  speak,  and  meet  him  halfway.  In  short, 
it  means " 

He  interrupted  himself,  as  if  the  sentences  which  he 
had  spoken  had  surprised  him.  And  the  others  seemed 
equally  disconcerted.  And  all  of  them  unconsciously  drew 
from  those  sentences  the  conclusions  which  they  implied, 
and  which  they  themselves  did  not  yet  fully  perceive. 

Don  Luis  did  not  remove  his  eyes  from  the  Prefect,  and 
awaited  the  inevitable  words. 

M.  Desmalions  muttered: 

"Come,  come,  you  are  not  going  to  suggest  that  he  had 
agreed  - 

"I  suggest  nothing,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  said  Don  Luis. 
"So  far,  you  have  followed  the  logical  and  natural  trend  of 
your  thoughts;  and  that  brings  you  to  your  present  po- 
sition." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,  but  I  am  showing  you  the  absurdity 
of  your  theory.  It  can't  be  correct,  and  we  can't  believe 
in  Marie  Fauville's  innocence  unless  we  are  prepared  to 
suppose  an  unheard-of  thing,  that  M.  Fauville  took  part 
in  his  own  murder.  Why,  it's  laughable!" 

And  he  gave  a  laugh;  but  it  was  a  forced  laugh  and  did 
not  ring  true. 


316  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"For,  after  all,"  he  added,  "you  can't  deny  that  that 
is  where  we  stand." 

"I  don't  deny  it." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  M.  Fauville,  as  you  say,  took  part  in  his  own 
murder." 

This  was  said  in  the  quietest  possible  fashion,  but  with 
an  air  of  such  certainty  that  no  one  dreamed  of  protesting. 
After  the  work  of  deduction  and  supposition  which  Don 
Luis  had  compelled  his  hearers  to  undertake,  they  found 
themselves  in  a  corner  which  it  was  impossible  for  them  to 
leave  without  stumbling  against  unanswerable  objections. 

There  was  no  longer  any  doubt  about  M.  Fauville's 
share  in  his  own  death.  But  of  what  did  that  share  con- 
sist? What  part  had  he  played  in  the  tragedy  of  hatred 
and  murder?  Had  he  played  that  part,  which  ended  in 
the  sacrifice  of  his  life,  voluntarily  or  under  compulsion? 
Who,  when  all  was  said  and  done,  had  served  as  his  ac- 
complice or  his  executioner? 

All  these  questions  came  crowding  upon  the  minds  of 
M.  Desmalions  and  the  others.  They  thought  of  nothing 
but  of  how  to  solve  them,  and  Don  Luis  could  feel  certain 
that  his  solution  was  accepted  beforehand.  From  that 
moment  he  had  but  to  tell  his  story  of  what  had  happened 
without  fear  of  contradiction.  He  did  so  briefly,  after 
the  manner  of  a  succinct  report  limited  to  essentials: 

"Three  months  before  the  crime,  M.  Fauville  wrote  a 
series  of  letters  to  one  of  his  friends,  M.  Langernault,  who, 
as  Sergeant  Mazeroux  will  have  told  you,  Monsieur  le 
Prefet,  had  been  dead  for  several  years,  a  fact  of  which 
M.  Fauville  cannot  have  been  ignorant.  These  letters 
were  posted,  but  were  intercepted  by  some  means  which 


THE   "HATER"  3V 

it  is  not  necessary  that  we  should  know  for  the  moment. 
M.  Fauville  erased  the  postmarks  and  the  addresses  and 
inserted  the  letters  in  a  machine  constructed  for  the  pur- 
pose, of  which  he  regulated  the  works  so  that  the  first 
letter  should  be  delivered  a  fortnight  after  his  death  and 
the  others  at  intervals  of  ten  days. 

"At  this  moment  it  is  certain  that  his  plan  was  con- 
certed down  to  the  smallest  detail.  Knowing  that  Sauve- 
rand  was  in  love  with  his  wife,  watching  Sauverand's 
movements,  he  must  obviously  have  noticed  that  his  de- 
tested rival  used  to  pass  under  the  windows  of  the  house 
every  Wednesday  and  that  Marie  Fauville  would  go  to 
her  window. 

"This  is  a  fact  of  the  first  importance,  one  which  was 
exceedingly  valuable  to  me;  and  it  will  impress  you  as 
being  equal  to  a  material  proof.  Every  Wednesday  even- 
ing, I  repeat,  Sauverand  used  to  wander  round  the  house. 
Now  note  this:  first,  the  crime  prepared  by  M.  Fauville 
was  committed  on  a  Wednesday  evening;  secondly,  it 
was  at  her  husband's  express  request  that  Mme.  Fauville 
went  out  that  evening  to  go  to  the  opera  and  to  Mme. 
d'Ersinger's." 

Don  Luis  stopped  for  a  few  seconds  and  then  continued: 

"Consequently,  on  the  morning  of  that  Wednesday, 
everything  was  ready,  the  fatal  clock  was  wound  up,  the 
incriminating  machinery  was  working  to  perfection,  and 
the  proofs  to  come  would  confirm  the  immediate  proofs 
which  M.  Fauville  held  in  reserve.  Better  still,  Monsieur 
le  Prefet,  you  had  received  from  him  a  letter  in  which  he 
told  you  of  the  plot  hatched  against  him,  and  he  implored 
your  assistance  for  the  morning  of  the  next  day  —  that  is 
to  say,  after  his  deaihJ 


318  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Everything,  in  short,  led  him  to  think  that  things 
would  go  according  to  the  'hater's'  wishes,  when  some- 
thing occurred  that  nearly  upset  his  schemes :  the  appear- 
ance of  Inspector  Verot,  who  had  been  sent  by  you,  Mon- 
sieur le  Pref  et,  to  collect  particulars  about  the  Mornington 
heirs.  What  happened  between  the  two  men?  Probably 
no  one  will  ever  know.  Both  are  dead;  and  their  secret 
will  not  come  to  life  again.  But  we  can  at  least  say  for 
certain  that  Inspector  Verot  was  here  and  took  away 
with  him  the  cake  of  chocolate  on  which  the  teeth  of  the 
tiger  were  seen  for  the  first  time,  and  also  that  Inspector 
Verot  succeeded,  thanks  to  circumstances  with  which  we 
are  unacquainted,  in  discovering  M.  Fauville's  projects." 

"This  we  know,"  explained  Don  Luis,  "because  In- 
spector Verot  said  so  in  his  own  agonizing  words;  because 
it  was  through  him  that  we  learned  that  the  crime  was 
to  take  place  on  the  following  night;  and  because  he  had 
set  down  his  discoveries  in  a  letter  which  was  stolen  from 
him. 

"And  Fauville  knew  it  also,  because,  to  get  rid  of  the 
formidable  enemy  who  was  thwarting  his  designs,  he 
poisoned  him;  because,  when  the  poison  was  slow  in  act- 
ing, he  had  the  audacity,  under  a  disguise  which  made 
him  look  like  Sauverand  and  which  was  one  day  to  turn 
suspicion  against  Sauverand,  he  had  the  audacity  and 
the  presence  of  mind  to  follow  Inspector  Verot  to  the 
Cafe  du  Pont-Neuf,  to  purloin  the  letter  of  explanation 
which  Inspector  Verot  wrote  you,  to  substitute  a  blank 
sheet  of  paper  for  it,  and  then  to  ask  a  passer-by,  who 
might  become  a  witness  against  Sauverand,  the  way  to 
the  nearest  underground  station  for  Neuilly,  where  Sauve- 
rand lived!  There's  your  man,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 


THE   "HATER"  319 

Don  Luis  spoke  with  increasing  force,  with  the  ardour 
that  springs  from  conviction;  and  his  logical  and  closely 
argued  speech  seemed  to  conjure  up  the  actual  truth. 

"There's  your  man,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  he  repeated. 
"There's  your  scoundrel.  And  the  situation  in  which  he 
found  himself  was  such,  the  fear  inspired  by  Inspector 
Verot's  possible  revelations  was  such,  that,  before  putting 
into  execution  the  horrible  deed  which  he  had  planned, 
he  came  to  the  police  office  to  make  sure  that  his  victim 
was  no  longer  alive  and  had  not  been  able  to  denounce 
him. 

"You  remember  the  scene,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  the 
fellow's  agitation  and  fright:  'To-morrow  evening,'  he 
said.  Yes,  it  was  for  the  morrow  that  he  asked  for  your 
help,  because  he  knew  that  everything  would  be  over 
that  same  evening  and  that  next  day  the  police  would 
be  confronted  with  a  murder,  with  the  two  culprits 
against  whom  he  himself  had  heaped  up  the  charges,  with 
Marie  Fauville,  whom  he  had,  so  to  speak,  accused  in 
advance.  .  . 

"That  was  why  Sergeant  Mazeroux's  visit  and  mine 
to  his  house,  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  embarrassed 
him  so  obviously.  Who  were  those  intruders?  Would 
they  not  succeed  in  shattering  his  plan?  Reflection  re- 
assured him,  even  as  we,  by  our  insistence,  compelled  him 
to  give  way. 

"After  all,  what  he  did  care?"  asked  Perenna. 

"His  measures  were  so  well  taken  that  no  amount  of 
watching  could  destroy  them  or  even  make  the  watchers 
aware  of  them.  What  was  to  happen  would  happen  in 
our  presence  and  unknown  to  us.  Death,  summoned  by 
him,  would  do  its  work.  .  .  J.  And  the  comedy,  the 


320 

tragedy,  rather,  ran  its  course.  Mme.  Fauville,  whom  he 
was  sending  to  the  opera,  came  to  say  good-night.  Then 
his  servant  brought  him  something  to  eat,  including  a 
dish  of  apples.  Then  followed  a  fit  of  rage,  the  agony  of 
the  man  who  is  about  to  die  and  who  fears  death  and  a 
whole  scene  of  deceit,  in  which  he  showed  us  his  safe  and 
the  drab-cloth  diary  which  was  supposed  to  contain  the 
story  of  the  plot.  .  .  .  That  ended  matters. 

"Mazeroux  and  I  retired  to  the  hall  passage,  closing 
the  door  after  us;  and  M.  Fauville  remained  alone  and 
free  to  act.  Nothing  now  could  prevent  the  fulfilment 
of  his  wishes.  At  eleven  o'clock  in  the  evening,  Mme. 
Fauville  —  to  whom  no  doubt,  in  the  course  of  the  day, 
imitating  Sauverand's  handwriting,  he  had  sent  a  letter  — 
one  of  those  letters  which  are  always  torn  up  at  once,  in 
which  Sauverand  entreated  the  poor  woman  to  grant 
him  an  interview  at  the  Ranelagh  —  Mme.  Fauville  would 
leave  the  opera  and,  before  going  to  Mme.  d'Ersinger's 
party,  would  spend  an  hour  not  far  from  the  house. 

"On  the  other  hand,  Sauverand  would  be  performing 
his  usual  Wednesday  pilgrimage  less  than  half  a  mile  away, 
in  the  opposite  direction.  During  this  time  the  crime 
would  be  committed. 

"Both  of  them  would  come  under  the  notice  of  the 
police,  either  by  M.  Fauville's  allusions  or  by  the  incident 
at  the  Cafe  du  Pont-Neuf;  both  of  them,  moreover, 
would  be  incapable  either  of  providing  an  alibi  or  of  ex- 
plaining their  presence  so  near  the  house:  were  not  both 
of  them  bound  to  be  accused  and  convicted  of  the  crime? 
.  .  .  In  the  most  unlikely  event  that  some  chance 
should  protect  them,  there  was  an  undeniable  proof  lying 
ready  to  hand  in  the  shape  of  the  apple  containing  the 


THE   "HATER"  321 

very  marks  oj^  Marie  Fauville's  teeth!  And  then,  a  few 
weeks  later,  the  last  and  decisive  trick,  the  mysterious 
arrival  at  intervals  of  ten  days,  of  the  letters  denouncing 
the  pair.  So  everything  was  settled. 

"The  smallest  details  were  foreseen  with  infernal  clear- 
ness. You  remember,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  that  turquoise 
which  dropped  out  of  my  ring  and  was  found  in  the  safe? 
There  were  only  four  persons  who  could  have  seen  it  and 
picked  it  up.  M.  Fauville  was  one  of  them.  Well,  he 
was  just  the  one,  whom  we  all  excepted;  and  yet  it  was 
he  who,  to  cast  suspicion  upon  me  and  to  forestall  an 
interference  which  he  felt  would  be  dangerous,  seized  the 
opportunity  and  placed  the  turquoise  in  the  safe !  .  .  . 

"This  time  the  work  was  completed.  Fate  was  about 
to  be  fulfilled.  Between  the  'hater'  and  his  victims  there 
was  but  the  distance  of  one  act.  The  act  was  performed. 
M.  Fauville  died." 

Don  Luis  ceased.  His  words  were  followed  by  a  long 
silence;  and  he  felt  certain  that  the  extraordinary  story 
which  he  had  just  finished  telling  met  with  the  absolute 
approval  of  his  hearers.  They  did  not  discuss,  they  be- 
lieved. And  yet  it  was  the  most  incredible  truth  that 
he  was  asking  them  to  believe. 

M.  Desmalions  asked  one  last  question. 

"You  were  in  that  passage  with  Sergeant  Mazerouxf 
There  were  detectives  outside  the  house.  Admitting  that 
M.  Fauville  knew  that  he  was  to  be  killed  that  night  and 
at  that  very  hour  of  the  night,  who  can  have  killed  him 
and  who  can  have  killed  his  son?  There  was  no  one 
within  these  four  walls." 

"There  was  M.  Fauville." 

A  sudden  clamour  of  protests  arose.     The  veil  was 


322  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

promptly  torn;  and  the  spectacle  revealed  by  Don  Luis 
provoked,  in  addition  to  horror,  an  unforeseen  outburst 
of  incredulity  and  a  sort  of  revolt  against  the  too  kindly 
attention  which  had  been  accorded  to  those  explanations. 
The  Prefect  of  Police  expressed  the  general  feeling  by  ex- 
claiming: 

"Enough  of  words!  Enough  of  theories!  However 
logical  they  may  seem,  they  lead  to  absurd  conclusions." 

"Absurd  in  appearance,  Monsieur  le  Prefet;  but  how 
do  we  know  that  M.  Fauville's  unheard-of  conduct  is  not 
explained  by  very  natural  reasons?  Of  course,  no  one 
dies  with  a  light  heart  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  revenge. 
But  how  do  we  know  that  M.  Fauville,  whose  extreme 
emaciation  and  pallor  you  must  have  noted  as  I  did,  was 
not  stricken  by  some  mortal  illness  and  that,  knowing 
himself  doomed " 

"I  repeat,  enough  of  words!"  cried  the  Prefect.  "You 
go  only  by  suppositions.  What  I  want  is  proofs,  a  proof, 
only  one.  And  we  are  still  waiting  for  it." 

"Here  it  is,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"Eh?     What's  that  you  say?" 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  when  I  removed  the  chandelier 
from  the  plaster  that  supported  it,  I  found,  outside  the 
upper  surface  of  the  metal  box,  a  sealed  envelope.  As 
the  chandelier  was  placed  under  the  attic  occupied  by 
M.  Fauville's  son,  it  is  evident  that  M.  Fauville  was  able, 
by  lifting  the  boards  of  the  floor  in  his  son's  room,  to 
reach  the  top  of  the  machine  which  he  had  contrived. 
This  was  how,  during  that  last  night,  he  placed  this  sealed 
envelope  in  position,  after  writing  on  it  the  date  of  the 
murder,  '31  March,  11  p.  M.,'  and  his  signature,  'Hippo* 
lyte  Fauville.'" 


THE  "HATER"  323 

M.  Desmalions  opened  the  envelope  with  an  eager  hand. 
His  first  glance  at  the  pages  of  writing  which  it  contained 
made  him  give  a  start. 

"Oh,  the  villain,  the  villain!"  he  said.  "How  was  it 
possible  for  such  a  monster  to  exist?  What  a  loathsome 
brute!" 

In  a  jerky  voice,  which  became  almost  inaudible  at 
times  owing  to  his  amazement,  he  read: 

"The  end  is  reached.  My  hour  is  striking.  Put  to  sleep 
by  me,  Edmond  is  dead  without  having  been  roused  from  his 
unconsciousness  by  the  fire  of  the  poison.  My  own  death- 
agony  is  beginning.  I  am  suffering  all  the  tortures  of  hell. 
My  hand  can  hardly  write  these  last  lines.  I  suffer,  how  I 
suffer!  And  yet  my  happiness  is  unspeakable. 

"This  happiness  dates  back  to  my  visit  to  London,  with 
Edmond,  four  months  ago.  Until  then,  I  was  dragging  on  the 
most  hideous  existence,  hiding  my  hatred  of  the  woman  who 
detested  me  and  who  loved  another,  broken  down  in  health, 
feeling  myself  already  eaten  up  with  an  unrelenting  disease,  and 
seeing  my  son  grow  daily  more  weak  and  languid. 

"In  the  afternoon  I  consulted  a  great  physician  and  I  no 
longer  had  the  least  doubt  left:  the  malady  that  was  eating 
into  me  was  cancer.  And  I  knew  besides  that,  like  myself, 
my  son  Edmond  was  on  the  road  to  the  grave,  incurably 
stricken  with  consumption. 

"That  same  evening  I  conceived  the  magnificent  idea  of 
revenge.  And  such  a  revenge!  The  most  dreadful  of  accusa- 
tions made  against  a  man  and  a  woman  in  love  with  each 
other!  Prison!  The  assizes!  Penal  servitude!  The  scaffold! 
And  no  assistance  possible,  not  a  struggle,  not  a  hope !  Accumu- 
lated proofs,  proofs  so  formidable  as  to  make  the  innocent 
themselves  doubt  their  own  innocence  and  remain  hopelessly 
and  helplessly  dumb.  What  a  revenge!  .  .  .  And  what 


324  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

a  punishment!  To  be  innocent  and  to  struggle  vainly  against 
the  very  facts  that  accuse  you,  the  very  certainty  that  pro- 
claims you  guilty. 

"  And  I  prepared  everything  with  a  glad  heart.  Each  happy 
thought,  each  invention  made  me  shout  with  laughter.  Lord, 
how  merry  I  was!  You  would  think  that  cancer  hurts:  not 
a  bit  of  it!  How  can  you  suffer  physical  pain  when  your  soul 
is  quivering  with  delight?  Do  you  think  I  feel  the  hideous 
burning  of  the  poison  at  this  moment? 

"I  am  happy.  The  death  which  I  have  inflicted  on  myself 
is  the  beginning  of  their  torment.  Then  why  live  and  wait 
for  a  natural  death  which  to  them  would  mean  the  beginning 
of  their  happiness?  And  as  Edmond  had  to  die,  why  not  save 
him  a  lingering  illness  and  give  him  a  death  which  would  double 
the  crime  of  Marie  and  Sauverand? 

"The  end  is  coming.  I  had  to  break  off:  the  pain  was  too 
much  for  me.  Now  to  pull  myself  together.  .  .  .  How 
silent  everything  is!  Outside  the  house  and  in  the  house  are 
emissaries  of  the  police  watching  over  my  crime.  At  no  great 
distance,  Marie,  in  obedience  to  my  letter,  is  hurrying  to  the 
try  sting  place,  where  her  beloved  will  not  come.  And  the 
beloved  is  roaming  under  the  windows  where  his  darling  will 
not  appear. 

"Oh,  the  dear  little  puppets  whose  string  I  pull!  Dance! 
Jump!  Skip!  Lord,  what  fun  they  are!  A  rope  round  your 
neck,  sir;  and,  madam,  a  rope  round  yours.  Was  it  not  you, 
sir,  who  poisoned  Inspector  Verot  this  morning  and  followed 
him  to  the  Cafe  du  Pont-Neuf ,  with  your  grand  ebony  walking- 
stick?  Why,  of  course  it  was!  And  at  night  the  pretty  lady 
poisons  me  and  poisons  her  stepson.  Prove  it?  Well,  what 
about  this  apple,  madam,  this  apple  which  you  did  not  bite 
into  and  which  all  the  same  will  be  found  to  bear  the  marks  of 
your  teeth?  What  fun!  Dance!  Jump!  Skip'. 

"And  the  letters!  The  trick  of  my  letters  to  the  late 
lamented  Langernault!  That  was  my  crowning  triumph.  Oh, 


THE  "HATER" 

the  joy  of  it,  when  I  invented  and  constructed  my  little  me- 
chanical toy!  Wasn't  it  nicely  thought  out?  Isn't  it  wonder- 
fully neat  and  accurate?  On  the  appointed  day,  click,  the 
first  letter !  And,  ten  days  after,  click,  the  second  letter !  Come, 
there's  no  hope  for  you,  my  poor  friends,  you're  nicely  done  for. 
Dance !  Jump !  Skip ! 

"And  what  amuses  me  —  for  I  am  laughing  now  —  is  ta 
think  that  nobody  will  know  what  to  make  of  it.  Marie  and. 
Sauverand  guilty:  of  that  there  is  not  the  least  doubt.  But, 
outside  that,  absolute  mystery. 

"Nobody  will  know  nor  ever  will  know  anything.  In  a  few 
weeks'  time,  when  the  two  criminals  are  irrevocably  doomed, 
when  the  letters  are  in  the  hands  of  the  police,  on  the  25th,  or, 
rather,  at  3  o'clock  on  the  morning  of  the  26th  of  May,  an 
explosion  will  destroy  every  trace  of  my  work.  The  bomb  is 
in  its  place.  A  movement  entirely  independent  of  the  chande- 
lier will  explode  it  at  the  hour  aforesaid. 

"I  have  just  laid  beside  it  the  drab-cloth  manuscript  book 
in  which  I  pretended  that  I  wrote  my  diary,  the  phials  con- 
taining the  poison,  the  needles  which  I  used,  an  ebony  walking- 
stick,  two  letters  from  Inspector  Verot,  in  short,  anything 
that  might  save  the  culprits.  Then  how  can  any  one  know? 
No,  nobody  will  know  nor  ever  will  know  anything. 

"  Unless  —  unless  some  miracle  happens  ~-'  unless  the  bomb 
leaves  the  walls  standing  and  the  ceiling  intact.  Unless,  by 
some  marvel  of  intelligence  and  intuition,  a  man  of  genius, 
unravelling  the  threads  which  I  have  tangled,  should  penetrate 
to  the  very  heart  of  the  riddle  and  succeed,  after  a  search  lasting 
for  months  and  months,  in  discovering  this  final  letter. 

"  It  is  for  this  man  that  I  write,  well  knowing  that  he  cannot 
exist.  But,  after  all,  what  do  I  care?  Marie  and  Sauverand 
will  be  at  the  bottom  of  the  abyss  by  then,  dead  no  doubt,  or 
in  any  case  separated  forever.  And  I  risk  nothing  by  leaving 
this  evidence  of  my  hatred  in  the  hands  of  chance. 

"There,  that's  finished.     I  have  only  to  sign.     My  hand 


326  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

shakes  more  and  more.  The  sweat  is  pouring  from  my  fore- 
head in  great  drops.  I  am  suffering  the  tortures  of  the  damned 
and  I  am  divinely  happy !  Aha,  my  friends,  you  were  waiting 
for  my  death! 

"You,  Marie,  imprudently  let  me  read  in  your  eyes,  which 
watched  me  stealthily,  all  your  delight  at  seeing  me  so  ill! 
And  you  were  both  of  you  so  sure  of  the  future  that  you  had 
the  courage  to  wait  patiently  for  my  death!  Well,  here  it  is, 
my  death!  Here  it  is  and  there  are  you,  united  above  my 
grave,  linked  together  with  the  handcuffs.  Marie,  be  the 
wife  of  my  friend  Sauverand.  Sauverand,  I  bestow  my  spouse 
upon  you.  Be  joined  together  in  holy  matrimony.  Bless  you, 
my  children! 

"The  examining  magistrate  will  draw  up  the  contract  and 
the  executioner  will  read  the  marriage  service.  Oh,  the  delight 
of  it!  I  suffer  agonies  —  but  oh,  the  delight!  What  a  fine 
thing  is  hatred,  when  it  makes  death  a  joy!  I  am  happy  in 
dying.  Marie  is  in  prison.  Sauverand  is  weeping  in  the  con- 
demned man's  cell.  The  door  opens.  .  .  . 

"Oh,  horror!  the  men  in  black!  They  walk  up  to  the  bed: 
'Gaston  Sauverand,  your  appeal  is  rejected.  Courage!  Be 
a  man!'  Oh,  the  cold,  dark  morning  —  the  scaffold!  It's 
your  turn,  Marie,  your  turn!  Would  you  survive  your  lover? 
Sauverand  is  dead :  it's  your  turn.  See,  here's  a  rope  for  you. 
Or  would  you  rather  have  poison?  Die,  will  you,  you  hussy! 
Die  with  your  veins  on  fire  —  as  I  am  doing,  I  who  hate  you 
—  hate  you  —  hate  you ! " 

M.  Desmalions  ceased,  amid  the  silent  astonishment  of 
all  those  present.  He  had  great  difficulty  in  reading  the 
concluding  lines,  the  writing  having  become  almost  wholly 
shapeless  and  illegible. 

He  said,  in  a  low  voice,  as  he  stared  at  the  paper: 
"'Hippolyte  Fauville.'     The  signature  is  there.     The 


THE   "HATER"  327 

scoundrel  found  a  last  remnant  of  strength  to  sign  his 
name  clearly.  He  feared  that  a  doubt  might  be  enter- 
tained of  his  villainy.  And  indeed  how  could  any  one 
have  suspected  it?" 

And,  looking  at  Don  Luis,  he  added : 

"It  needed,  to  solve  the  mystery,  a  really  exceptional 
power  of  insight  and  gifts  to  which  we  must  all  do  homage, 
to  which  I  do  homage.  All  the  explanations  which  that 
madman  gave  have  been  anticipated  in  the  most  accurate 
and  bewildering  fashion." 

Don  Luis  bowed  and,  without  replying  to  the  praise  be- 
stowed upon  him,  said: 

"You  are  right,  Monsieur  le  Prefet;  he  was  a  madman, 
and  one  of  the  most  dangerous  kind,  the  lucid  madman 
who  pursues  an  idea  from  which  nothing  will  make  him 
turn  aside.  He  pursued  it  with  superhuman  tenacity 
and  with  all  the  resources  of  his  fastidious  mind,  enslaved 
by  the  laws  of  mechanics. 

"Another  would  have  killed  his  victims  frankly  and 
brutally.  He  set  his  wits  to  work  to  kill  at  a  long 
date,  like  an  experimenter  who  leaves  to  time  the  duty 
of  proving  the  excellence  of  his  invention.  And  he 
succeeded  only  too  well,  because  the  police  fell  into 
the  trap  and  because  Mme.  Fauville  is  perhaps  going  to 
die." 

M.  Desmalions  made  a  gesture  of  decision.  The  whole 
business,  in  fact,  was  past  history,  on  which  the  police 
proceedings  would  throw  the  necessary  light.  One  fact 
alone  was  of  importance  to  the  present:  the  saving  of 
Marie  Fauville's  life. 

"It's  true,"  he  said,  "we  have  not  a  minute  to  lose. 
Mme.  Fauville  must  be  told  without  delay.  At  the  same 


328  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

time,  I  will  send  for  the  examining  magistrate;  and  the 
case  against  her  is  sure  to  be  dismissed  at  once." 

He  swiftly  gave  orders  for  continuing  the  investigations 
and  verifying  Don  Luis's  theories.  Then,  turning  to  Per- 
enna: 

"Come,  Monsieur,"  he  said.  "It  is  right  that  Mme. 
Fauville  should  thank  her  rescuer.  Mazeroux,  you  come, 
too." 

The  meeting  was  over,  that  meeting  in  the  course  of 
which  Don  Luis  had  given  the  most  striking  proofs  of 
his  genius.  Waging  war,  so  to  speak,  upon  the  powers 
beyond  the  grave,  he  had  forced  the  dead  man  to  reveal 
his  secret.  He  disclosed,  as  though  he  had  been  present 
throughout,  the  hateful  vengeance  conceived  in  the  dark- 
ness and  carried  out  in  the  tomb. 

M.  Desmalions  showed  all  his  admiration  by  his  silence 
and  by  certain  movements  of  his  head.  And  Perenna 
took  a  keen  enjoyment  in  the  strange  fact  that  he,  who 
was  being  hunted  down  by  the  police  a  few  hours  ago, 
should  now  be  sitting  in  a  motor  car  beside  the  head  of 
that  same  force. 

Nothing  threw  into  greater  relief  the  masterly  manner 
in  which  he  had  conducted  the  business  and  the  impor- 
tance which  the  police  attached  to  the  results  obtained. 
The  value  of  his  collaboration  was  such  that  they  were 
willing  to  forget  the  incidents  of  the  last  two  days.  The 
grudge  which  Weber  bore  him  was  now  of  no  avail  against 
Don  Luis  Perenna. 

M.  Desmalions,  meanwhile,  began  briefly  to  review  the 
new  solutions,  and  he  concluded  by  still  discussing  certain 
points. 


THE  "HATER"  329 

"Yes,  that's  it  ...  there  is  not  the  least  shadow 
of  a  doubt.  .  .  .  We  agree.  .  .  .  It's  that  and 
nothing  else.  Still,  one  or  two  things  remain  obscure. 
First  of  all,  the  mark  of  the  teeth.  This,  notwithstanding 
the  husband's  admission,  is  a  fact  which  we  cannot  neg- 
lect." 

"I  believe  that  the  explanation  is  a  very  simple  one, 
Monsieur  le  Prefet.  I  will  give  it  to  you  as  soon  as  I  am 
able  to  support  it  with  the  necessary  proofs." 

"Very  well.  But  another  question:  how  is  it  that 
Weber,  yesterday  morning,  found  that  sheet  of  paper 
relating  to  the  explosion  in  Mile.  Levasseur's  room?" 

"And  how  was  it,"  added  Don  Luis,  laughing,  "that  I 
found  there  the  list  of  the  five  dates  corresponding  with 
the  delivery  of  the  letters?" 

"  So  you  are  of  my  opinion?  "  said  M.  Desmalions.  " The 
part  played  by  Mile.  Levasseur  is  at  least  suspicious." 

"I  believe  that  everything  will  be  cleared  up,  Monsieur 
le  Prefet,  and  that  you  need  now  only  question  Mme. 
Fauville  and  Gaston  Sauverand  in  order  to  dispel  these 
last  obscurities  and  remove  all  suspicion  from  Mile.  Le- 
vasseur." 

"And  then,"  insisted  M.  Desmalions,  "there  is  one 
more  fact  that  strikes  me  as  odd.  Hippolyte  Fauville 
does  not  once  mention  the  Mornington  inheritance  in 
his  confession.  Why?  Did  he  not  know  of  it?  Are  we 
to  suppose  that  there  is  no  connection,  beyond  a  mere 
casual  coincidence,  between  the  series  of  crimes  and  that 
bequest?" 

"There,  I  am  entirely  of  your  opinion,  Monsieur  le 
Prefet.  Hippolyte  Fauville's  silence  as  to  that  bequest 
perplexes  me  a  little,  I  confess.  But  all  the  same  I  look 


330  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

upon  it  as  comparatively  unimportant.  The  main  thing 
is  Fauville's  guilt  and  the  prisoners'  innocence." 

Don  Luis's  delight  was  pure  and  unbounded.  From 
his  point  of  view,  the  sinister  tragedy  was  at  an  end  with 
the  discovery  of  the  confession  written  by  Hippolyte 
Fauville.  Anything  not  explained  in  those  lines  would 
be  explained  by  the  details  to  be  supplied  by  Mme.  Fau- 
ville, Florence  Levasseur,  and  Gaston  Sauverand.  He 
himself  had  lost  all  interest  in  the  matter. 

The  car  drew  up  at  Saint-Lazare,  the  wretched,  sordid 
old  prison  which  is  still  waiting  to  be  pulled  down. 

The  Prefect  jumped  out.  The  door  was  opened  at 
once. 

"Is  the  prison  governor  there?"  he  asked.  "Quick! 
send  for  him,  it's  urgent." 

Then,  unable  to  wait,  he  at  once  hastened  toward  the 
corridors  leading  to  the  infirmary  and,  as  he  reached  the 
first-floor  landing,  came  up  against  the  governor  himself. 

"Mme.  Fauville,"  he  said,  without  waste  of  time.  "1 
want  to  see  her  — 

But  he  stopped  short  when  he  saw  the  expression  of  con- 
sternation on  the  prison  governor's  face. 

"Well,  what  is  it?"  he  asked.     "What's  the  matter?" 

"Why,  haven't  you  heard,  Monsieur  le  Prefet?"  stam- 
mered the  governor.  "I  telephoned  to  the  office,  you 
know 

"Speak!    What  is  it?" 

"  Mme.  Fauville  died  this  morning.  She  managed  some- 
how to  take  poison." 

M.  Desmalions  seized  the  governor  by  the  arm  and  ran 
to  the  infirmary,  followed  by  Perenna  and  Mazeroux. 

He  saw  Marie  Fauville  lying  on  a  bed  in  one  of  the 


THE  "HATER"  331 

rooms.  Her  pale  face  and  her  shoulders  were  stained 
with  brown  patches,  similar  to  those  which  had  marked 
the  bodies  of  Inspector  Verot,  Hippolyte  Fauville,  and 
his  son  Edmond. 

Greatly  upset,  the  Prefect  murmured: 
"But  the  poison  —  where  did  it  come  from?" 
"This  phial  and  syringe  were  found  under  her  pillow, 
Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"Under  her  pillow?     But  how  did  they  get  there? 
How  did  they  reach  her?     Who  gave  them  to  her?" 
"We  don't  know  yet,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 
M.  Desmalions  looked  at  Don  Luis.     So  Hippolyte 
Fauville's  suicide  had  not  put  an  end  to  the  series  of 
crimes!     His  action  had  done  more  than  aim  at  Marie's 
death  by  the  hand  of  the  law:  it  had  now  driven  her  to 
take  poison!     Was  it  possible?     Was  it  admissible  that 
the  dead  man's  revenge  should  still  continue  in  the  same 
automatic  and  anonymous  manner? 

Or  rather  —  or  rather,  was  there  not  some  other  mys- 
terious will  which  was  secretly  and  as  audaciously  carry- 
ing on  Hippolyte  Fauville's  diabolical  work? 

Two  days  later  came  a  fresh  sensation:  Gaston  Sauve- 
rand  was  found  dying  in  his  cell.  He  had  had  the  courage 
to  strangle  himself  with  his  bedsheet.  All  efforts  to  restore 
him  to  life  were  vain. 

On  the  table  near  him  lay  a  half-dozen  newspaper  cut- 
tings, which  had  been  passed  to  him  by  an  unknown 
hand.  All  of  them  told  the  news  of  Marie  Fauville's 
death. 


CHAPTER  FIFTEEN 

THE   HEIR   TO   THE   HUNDRED   MILLIONS 

ON  THE  fourth  evening  after  the  tragic  events  re- 
lated, an  old  cab-driver,  almost  entirely  hidden 
in  a  huge  great-coat,  rang  at  Perenna's  door  and 
sent  up  a  letter  to  Don  Luis.  He  was  at  once  shown  into 
the  study  on  the  first  floor.  Hardly  taking  time  to  throw 
off  his  great-coat,  he  rushed  at  Don  Luis: 

"It's  all  up  with  you  this  time,  Chief!"  he  exclaimed. 
"This  is  no  moment  for  joking:  pack  up  your  trunks  and 
be  off  as  quick  as  you  can!" 

Don  Luis,  who  sat  quietly  smoking  in  an  easy  chair, 
answered: 

*  *  Which  will  you  have,  Mazeroux  ?  A  cigar  or  a  cigarette  ? ' ' 

Mazeroux  at  once  grew  indignant. 

"But  look  here,  Chief,  don't  you  read  the  papers?" 

"Worse  luck!" 

"In  that  case,  the  situation  must  appear  as  clear  to 
you  as  it  does  to  me  and  everybody  else.  During  the 
last  three  days,  since  the  double  suicide,  or,  rather,  the 
double  murder  of  Marie  Fauville  and  her  cousin  Gaston 
Sauverand,  there  hasn't  been  a  newspaper  but  has  said 
this  kind  of  thing:  'And,  now  that  M.  Fauville,  his  son, 
his  wife,  and  his  cousin  Gaston  Sauverand  are  dead,  there's 
nothing  standing  between  Don  Luis  Perenna  and  the 
Mornington  inheritance!" 


HEIR  TO  THE  HUNDRED  MILLIONS      333 

"Do  you  understand  what  that  means?  Of  course, 
people  speak  of  the  explosion  on  the  Boulevard  Suchet 
and  of  Fauville's  posthumous  revelations;  and  they  are 
disgusted  with  that  dirty  brute  of  a  Fauville;  and  they 
don't  know  how  to  praise  your  cleverness  enough.  But 
there  is  one  fact  that  forms  the  main  subject  of  every 
conversation  and  every  discussion. 

"Now  that  the  three  branches  of  the  Roussel  family 
are  extinct,  who  remains?  Don  Luis  Perenna.  In  de- 
fault of  the  natural  heirs,  who  inherits  the  property?  Don 
Luis  Perenna." 

"Lucky  dog!" 

"That's  what  people  are  saying,  Chief.  They  say  that 
this  series  of  murders  and  atrocities  cannot  be  the  effort 
of  chance  coincidences,  but,  on  the  contrary,  points  to  the 
existence  of  an  all-powerful  will  which  began  with  the 
murder  of  Cosmo  Mornington  and  ended  with  the  cap- 
ture of  the  hundred  millions.  And  to  give  a  name  to  that 
will,  they  pitch  on  the  nearest,  that  of  the  extraordinary, 
glorious,  ill-famed,  bewildering,  mysterious,  omnipotent, 
and  ubiquitous  person  who  was  Cosmo  Mornington's  inti- 
mate friend  and  who,  from  the  beginning,  has  controlled 
events  and  pieced  them  together,  accusing  and  acquitting 
people,  getting  them  arrested,  and  helping  them  to  escape. 

"They  say,"  he  went  on  hurriedly,  "that  he  manages 
the  whole  business  and  that,  if  he  works  it  in  accordance 
with  his  interests,  there  are  a  hundred  millions  waiting 
for  him  at  the  finish.  And  this  person  is  Don  Luis  Per- 
enna, in  other  words,  Arsene  Lupin,  the  man  with  the 
unsavoury  reputation  whom  it  would  be  madness  not  to 
think  of  in  connection  with  so  colossal  a  job." 

"Thank  you!" 


334  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

" That's  what  they  say,  Chief;  I'm  only  telling  you. 
As  long  as  Mme.  Fauville  and  Gaston  Sauverand  were 
alive,  people  did  not  give  much  thought  to  your  claims 
as  residuary  legatee.  But  both  of  them  died.  Then,  you 
see,  people  can't  help  remarking  the  really  surprising  per- 
sistence with  which  luck  looks  after  Don  Luis  Perenna's 
interests.  You  know  the  legal  maxim:  fecit  cui  prodest. 
Who  benefits  by  the  disappearance  of  all  the  Roussel 
heirs?  Don  Luis  Perenna." 

"The  scoundrel!" 

"The  scoundrel:  that's  the  word  which  Weber  goes 
roaring  out  all  along  the  passages  of  the  police  office  and 
the  criminal  investigation  department.  You  are  the  scoun- 
drel and  Florence  Levasseur  is  your  accomplice.  And 
hardly  any  one  dares  protest. 

"The  Prefect  of  Police?  What  is  the  use  of  his  defend- 
ing you,  of  his  remembering  that  you  have  saved  his  life 
twice  over  and  rendered  invaluable  services  to  the  police 
which  he  is  the  first  to  appreciate?  What  is  the  use  of 
his  going  to  the  Prime  Minister,  though  we  all  know  that 
Valenglay  protects  you? 

"There  are  others  besides  the  Prefect  of  Police!  There 
are  others  besides  the  Prime  Minister!  There's  the  whole 
of  the  detective  office,  there's  the  pubh'c  prosecutor's  staff, 
there's  the  examining  magistrate,  the  press  and,  above  all, 
public  opinion,  which  has  to  be  satisfied  and  which  calls 
for  and  expects  a  culprit.  That  culprit  is  yourself  or 
Florence  Levasseur.  Or,  rather,  it's  you  and  Florence 
Levasseur." 

Don  Luis  did  not  move  a  muscle  of  his  face.  Mazeroux 
waited  a  moment  longer.  Then,  receiving  no  reply,  he 
made  a  gesture  of  despair. 


HEIR  TO  THE  HUNDRED  MILLIONS     335 

"Chief,  do  you  know  what  you  are  compelling  me  to 
do?  To  betray  my  duty.  Well,  let  me  tell  you  this: 
to-morrow  morning  you  will  receive  a  summons  to  appear 
before  the  examining  magistrate.  At  the  end  of  your 
examination,  whatever  questions  may  have  been  put  to 
you  and  whatever  you  may  have  answered,  you  will  be 
taken  straight  to  the  lockup.  The  warrant  is  signed. 
That  is  what  your  enemies  have  done'" 

"The  devil!" 

"And  that's  not  all.  Weber,  who  is  burning  to  take 
his  revenge,  has  asked  for  permission  to  watch  your  house 
from  this  day  onward,  so  that  you  may  not  slip  away  as 
Florence  Levasseur  did.  He  will  be  here  with  his  men  in 
an  hour's  time.  What  do  you  say  to  that,  Chief?" 

Without  abandoning  his  careless  attitude,  Don  Luis 
beckoned  to  Mazeroux. 

"Sergeant,  just  look  under  that  sofa  between  the  win- 
dows." 

Don  Luis  was  serious.  Mazeroux  instinctively  obeyed. 
Under  the  sofa  was  a  portmanteau. 

"Sergeant,  in  ten  minutes,  when  I  have  told  my  ser- 
vants to  go  to  bed,  carry  the  portmanteau  to  143  bis  Rue 
de  Rivoli,  where  I  have  taken  a  small  flat  under  the  name 
of  M.  Lecocq." 

"What  for,  Chief?     What  does  it  mean?" 

"  It  means  that,  having  no  trustworthy  person  to  carry 
that  portmanteau  for  me,  I  have  been  waiting  for  your 
visit  for  the  last  three  days." 

"Why,  but "  stammered  Mazeroux,  in  his  confu- 
sion. 

"Why  but  what?" 

"Had  you  made  up  your  mind  to  clear  out?" 


336  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Of  course  I  had!  But  why  hurry?  The  reason  I 
placed  you  in  the  detective  office  was  that  I  might  know 
what  was  being  plotted  against  me.  Since  you  tell  me 
that  I'm  in  danger,  I  shall  cut  my  stick." 

And,  as  Mazeroux  looked  at  him  with  increasing 
bewilderment,  he  tapped  him  on  the  shoulder  and  said 
severely  : 

"You  see,  Sergeant,  that  it  was  not  worth  while  to 
disguise  yourself  as  a  cab-driver  and  betray  your  duty. 
You  should  never  betray  your  duty,  Sergeant.  Ask  your 
own  conscience:  I  am  sure  that  it  will  judge  you  according 
to  your  deserts." 

Don  Luis  had  spoken  the  truth.  Recognizing  how 
greatly  the  deaths  of  Marie  Fauville  and  Sauverand  had 
altered  the  situation,  he  considered  it  wise  to  move  to  a 
place  of  safety.  His  excuse  for  not  doing  so  before  was 
that  he  hoped  to  receive  news  of  Florence  Levasseur  either 
by  letter  or  by  telephone.  As  the  girl  persisted  in  keeping 
silence,  there  was  no  reason  why  Don  Luis  should  risk  an 
arrest  which  the  course  of  events  made  extremely  prob- 
able. 

And  in  fact  his  anticipations  were  correct.  Next  morn- 
ing Mazeroux  came  to  the  little  flat  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli 
looking  very  spry. 

"You've  had  a  narrow  escape,  Chief.  Weber  heard 
this  morning  that  the  bird  had  flown.  He's  simply  furious ! 
And  you  must  confess  that  the  tangle  is  getting  worse  and 
worse.  They're  utterly  at  a  loss  at  headquarters.  They 
don't  even  know  how  to  set  about  prosecuting  Florence 
Levasseur. 

"You  must  have  read  about  it  in  the  papers.  The 
examining  magistrate  maintains  that,  as  Fauville  com- 


HEIR  TO  THE  HUNDRED  MILLIONS      337 

milled  suicide  and  killed  his  son  Edmond,  Florence  Le- 
vasseur  has  nolhing  lo  do  wilh  Ihe  mailer.  In  his  opinion 
the  case  is  closed  on  lhal  side.  Well,  he's  a  good  one, 
the  examining  magislrale!  Whal  aboul  Gaslon  Sauve- 
rand's  dealh?  Isn'l  il  as  clear  as  daylighl  that  Florence 
had  a  hand  in  it,  as  well  as  in  all  the  rest? 

"  Wasn't  il  in  her  room,  in  a  volume  of  Shakespeare,  lhat 
documenls  were  found  relaling  lo  M.  Fauville's  arrange- 
menls  aboul  Ihe  lellers  and  Ihe  explosion?  And  Ihen 


Mazeroux  inlerrupled  himself,  frighlened  by  Ihe  look 
in  Don  Luis's  eyes  and  realizing  lhal  Ihe  chief  was  fonder 
of  Ihe  girl  Ihen  ever.  Guilly  or  nol,  she  inspired  him  wilh 
Ihe  same  passion. 

"All  right,",  said  Mazeroux,  "we'll  say  no  more  about 
il.  The  fulure  will  bear  me  oul,  you'll  see." 

The  days  passed.  Mazeroux  called  as  oflen  as  possible, 
or  else  telephoned  lo  Don  Luis  all  Ihe  delails  of  Ihe  Iwo 
inquiries  lhal  were  being  pursued  al  Sainl-Lazare  and 
al  Ihe  Sanle  Prison. 

Vain  inquiries,  as  we  know.  While  Don  Luis's  slale- 
menls  relaling  lo  Ihe  eleclric  chandelier  and  Ihe  aulomalic 
dislribulion  of  Ihe  myslerious  lellers  were  found  lo  be 
correcl,  Ihe  invesligalion  failed  lo  reveal  anylhing  about 
the  Iwo  suicides. 

Al  mosl,  il  was  ascertained  lhal,  before  his  arresl, 
Sauverand  had  Iried  lo  enler  inlo  correspondence  wilh 
Marie  Ihrough  one  of  Ihe  tradesmen  supplying  the  infir- 
mary. Were  they  to  suppose  thai  Ihe  phial  of  poison  and 
Ihe  hypodermic  syringe  had  been  inlroduced  by  Ihe  same 
means?  Il  was  impossible  to  prove;  and,  on  the  other 


338  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

hand,  it  was  impossible  to  discover  how  the  newspaper 
cuttings  telling  of  Marie's  suicide  had  found  their  way 
into  Gaston  Sauverand's  cell. 

And  then  the  original  mystery  still  remained,  the  un- 
fathomable mystery  of  the  marks  of  teeth  in  the  apple. 
M.  Fauville's  posthumous  confession  acquitted  Marie. 
And  yet  it  was  undoubtedly  Marie's  teeth  that  had  marked 
the  apple.  The  teeth  that  had  been  called  the  teeth  of 
the  tiger  were  certainly  hers.  Well,  then! 

In  short,  as  Mazeroux  said,  everybody  was  groping  in 
the  dark,  so  much  so  that  the  Prefect,  who  was  called  upon 
by  the  will  to  assemble  the  Mornington  heirs  at  a  date 
not  less  than  three  nor  more  than  four  months  after  the 
testator's  decease,  suddenly  decided  that  the  meeting 
should  take  place  in  the  course  of  the  following  week  and 
fixed  it  for  the  ninth  of  June. 

He  hoped  in  this  way  to  put  an  end  to  an  exasperating 
case  in  which  the  police  displayed  nothing  but  uncer- 
tainty and  confusion.  They  would  decide  about  the  in- 
heritance according  to  circumstances  and  then  close  the 
proceedings.  And  gradually  people  would  cease  to  talk 
about  the  wholesale  slaughter  of  the  Mornington  heirs; 
and  the  mystery  of  the  teeth  of  the  tiger  would  be  grad- 
ually forgotten. 

It  was  strange,  but  these  last  days,  which  were  restless 
and  feverish  like  all  the  days  that  come  before  great  battles 
—  and  every  one  felt  that  this  last  meeting  meant  a 
great  battle  —  were  spent  by  Don  Luis  in  an  armchair 
on  his  balcony  in  the  Rue  de  Rivoli,  where  he  sat  quietly 
smoking  cigarettes,  or  blowing  soap-bubbles  which  the 
wind  carried  toward  the  garden  of  the  Tuileries. 

Mazeroux  could  not  get  over  it. 


HEIR  TO  THE  HUNDRED  MILLIONS     339 

"  Chief,  you  astound  me !  How  calm  and  careless  you 
look!" 

"I  am  calm  and  careless,  Alexandra." 

"But  what  do  you  mean?  Doesn't  the  case  interest 
you?  Don't  you  intend  to  avenge  Mme.  Fauville  and 
Sauverand?  You  are  openly  accused  and  you  sit  here 
blowing  soap-bubbles!" 

"There's  no  more  delightful  pastime,  Alexandre." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  what  I  think,  Chief?  You've  dis- 
covered the  solution  of  the  mystery ! " 

"Perhaps  I  have,  Alexandre,  and  perhaps  I  haven't." 

Nothing  seemed  to  excite  Don  Luis.  Hours  and  hours 
passed;  and  he  did  not  stir  from  his  balcony.  The  spar- 
rows now  came  and  ate  the  crumbs  which  he  threw  to 
them.  It  really  seemed  as  if  the  case  was  coming  to  an  end 
for  him  and  as  if  everything  was  turning  out  perfectly. 

But,  on  the  day  of  the  meeting,  Mazeroux  entered  with 
a  letter  in  his  hand  and  a  scared  look  on  his  face. 

"This  is  for  you,  Chief.  Itxwas  addressed  to  me,  but 
with  an  envelope  inside  it  in  your  name.  How  do  you 
explain  that?  " 

"Quite  easily,  Alexandre.  The  enemy  is  aware  of  our 
cordial  relations;  and,  as  he  does  not  know  where  I  am 
staying " 

"What  enemy?" 

"I'll  tell  you  to-morrow  evening." 

Don  Luis  opened  the  envelope  and  read  the  following 
words,  written  in  red  ink: 

"There's  still  time,  Lupin.  Retire  from  the  contest.  If 
not,  it  means  your  death,  too.  When  you  think  that  your 
object  is  attained,  when  your  hand  is  raised  against  me  and 


340  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

you  utter  words  of  triumph,  at  that  same  moment  the  ground 
will  open  beneath  your  feet.  The  place  of  your  death  is  chosen. 
The  snare  is  laid.  Beware,  Lupin." 

Don  Luis  smiled. 

"Good,"  he  said.     "Things  are  taking  shape." 
"Do  you  think  so,  Chief?" 
"I  do.     And  who  gave  you  the  letter?" 
"Ah,  we've  been  lucky  for  once,  Chief!     The  police- 
man to  whom  it  was  handed  happened  to  live  at   Les 
Ternes,    next   door    to    the    bearer    of    the    letter.     He 
knows  the  fellow  well.     It  was  a  stroke  of  luck,  wasn't 
it?" 

Don  Luis  sprang  from  his  seat,  radiant  with  delight. 
"What  do  you  mean?     Out  with  it!     You  know  who 
it  is?" 

"The  chap's  an  indoor  servant  employed  at  a  nursing- 
home  in  the  Avenue  des  Ternes." 

"Let's  go  there.     We've  no  time  to  lose." 
"Splendid,  Chief!     You're  yourself  again." 
"Well,  of  course!     As  long  as  there  was  nothing  to  do 
I  was  waiting  for  this  evening  and  resting,  for  I  can  see 
that  the  fight  will  be  tremendous.     But,  as  the  enemy  has 
blundered  at  last,  as  he's  given  me  a  trail  to  go  upon, 
there's  no  need  to  wait,  and  I'll  get  ahead  of  him.     Have 
at  the  tiger,  Mazeroux!" 

It  was  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  when  Don  Luis  and 
Mazeroux  arrived  at  the  nursing-home  in  the  Avenue  des 
Ternes.  A  manservant  opened  the  door.  Mazeroux 
nudged  Don  Luis.  The  man  was  doubtless  the  bearer 
of  the  letter.  And,  in  reply  to  the  sergeant's  questions, 


HEIR  TO  THE  HUNDRED  MILLIONS      341 

he  made  no  difficulty  about  saying  that  he  had  been  to 
the  police  office  that  morning. 

"By  whose  orders?"  asked  Mazeroux. 

"The  mother  superior's." 

"The  mother  superior?" 

"Yes,  the  home  includes  a  private  hospital,  which  is 
managed  by  nuns." 

"Could  we  speak  to  the  superior?" 

"Certainly,  but  not  now:  she  has  gone  out." 

"When  will  she  be  in?" 

"Oh,  she  may  be  back  at  any  time!" 

The  man  showed  them  into  the  waiting-room,  where 
they  spent  over  an  hour.  They  were  greatly  puzzled. 
What  did  the  intervention  of  that  nun  mean?  What  part 
was  she  playing  in  the  case? 

People  came  in  and  were  taken  to  the  patients  whom 
they  had  called  to  see.  Others  went  out.  There  were 
also  sisters  moving  silently  to  and  fro  and  nurses  dressed 
in  their  long  white  overalls  belted  at  the  waist. 

"We're  not  doing  any  good  here,  Chief,"  whispered 
Mazeroux. 

"What's  your  hurry?     Is  your  sweetheart  waiting  for 

you?" 

"We're  wasting  our  time." 

"I'm  not  wasting  mine.  The  meeting  at  the.  Prefect's 
is  not  till  five." 

"What  did  you  say?  You're  joking,  Chief!  You 
surely  don't  intend  to  go  to  it." 

"Why  not?" 

"Why  not?     Well,  the  warrant " 

"The  warrant?     A  scrap  of  paper!" 

**  &  scrap  of  paper  which  will  become  a  serious  matter 


342  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

if  you  force  the  police  to  act.  Your  presence  will  be 
looked  upon  as  a  provocation 

"And  my  absence  as  a  confession.  A  gentleman  who 
comes  into  a  hundred  millions  does  not  lie  low  on  the  day 
of  the  windfall.  So  I  must  attend  that  meeting,  lest  I 
should  forfeit  my  claim.  And  attend  it  I  will." 

"Chief!" 

A  stifled  cry  was  heard  in  front  of  them;  and  a  woman, 
a  nurse,  who  was  passing  through  the  room,  at  once  started 
running,  lifted  a  curtain,  and  disappeared. 

Don  Luis  rose,  hesitating,  not  knowing  what  to  do. 
Then,  after  four  or  five  seconds  of  indecision,  he  suddenly 
rushed  to  the  curtain  and  down  a  corridor,  came  up 
against  a  large,  leather-padded  door  which  had  just  closed, 
and  wasted  more  time  in  stupidly  fumbling  at  it  with 
shaking  hands. 

When  he  had  opened  it,  he  found  himself  at  the  foot 
of  a  back  staircase.  Should  he  go  up  it?  On  the  right, 
the  same  staircase  ran  down  to  the  basement.  He  went 
down  it,  entered  a  kitchen  and,  seizing  hold  of  the  cook, 
said  to  her,  in  an  angry  voice: 

"Has  a  nurse  just  gone  out  this  way?" 

"Do  you  mean  Nurse  Gertrude,  the  new  one?" 

"Yes,  yes,  quick!  she's  wanted  upstairs." 

"Who  wants  her?" 

"Oh,  hang  it  all,  can't  you  tell  me  which  way  she 
went?  " 

"Through  that  door  over  there." 

Don  Luis  darted  away,  crossed  a  little  hall,  and  rushed 
out  on  to  the  Avenue  des  Ternes. 

"Well,  here's  a  pretty  race!"  cried  Mazeroux,  joining 
him. 


Don  Luis  stood  scanning  the  avenue.  A  motor  bus 
was  starting  on  the  little  square  hard  by,  the  Place  Saint- 
Ferdinand. 

"She's  inside  it,"  he  declared.  "This  time,  I  shan't 
let  her  go." 

He  hailed  a  taxi. 

"Follow  that  motor  bus,  driver,  at  fifty  yards'  dis- 
tance." 

"Is  it  Florence  Levasseur?"  asked  Mazeroux. 

"Yes." 

"A  nice  thing!"  growled  the  sergeant.  And,  yielding 
to  a  sudden  outburst:  "But,  look  here,  Chief,  don't  you 
see?  Surely  you're  not  as  blind  as  all  that!" 

Don  Luis  made  no  reply. 

"But,  Chief,  Florence  Levasseur's  presence  in  the  nurs- 
ing-home proves  as  clearly  as  A  B  C  that  it  was  she 
who  told  the  manservant  to  bring  me  that  threatening 
letter  for  you!  There's  not  a  doubt  about  it:  Florence 
Levasseur  is  managing  the  whole  business. 

"You  know  it  as  well  as  I  do.  Confess!  It's  possible 
that,  during  the  last  ten  days,  you've  brought  yourself, 
for  love  of  that  woman,  to  look  upon  her  as  innocent  in 
spite  of  the  overwhelming  proofs  against  her.  But  to-day 
the  truth  hits  you  in  the  eye.  I  feel  it,  I'm  sure  of  it. 
Isn't  it  so,  Chief?  I'm  right,  am  I  not?  You  see  it  for 
yourself?" 

This  time  Don  Luis  did  not  protest.  With  a  drawn 
face  and  set  eyes  he  watched  the  motor  bus,  which  at 
that  moment  was  standing  still  at  the  corner  of  the  Boule- 
vard Haussmann. 

"Stop!"  he  shouted  to  the  driver. 

The  girl  alighted.     It  was  easy  to  recognize  Florence 


344  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

Levasseur  under  her  nurse's  uniform.  She  cast  round  her 
eyes  as  if  to  make  sure  that  she  was  not  being  followed, 
and  then  took  a  cab  and  drove  down  the  boulevard  and 
the  Rue  de  la  Pepiniere,  to  the  Gare  Saint-Lazare. 

Don  Luis  saw  her  from  a  distance  climbing  the  steps 
that  run  up  from  the  Cour  de  Rome;  and,  on  following 
her,  caught  sight  of  her  again  at  the  ticket  office  at  the 
end  of  the  waiting  hall. 

"  Quick,  Mazeroux ! "  he  said.  "  Get  out  your  detective 
card  and  ask  the  clerk  what  ticket  she's  taken.  Run, 
before  another  passenger  comes." 

Mazeroux  hurried  and  questioned  the  ticket  clerk  and 
returned: 

"Second  class  for  Rouen." 

"Take  one  for  yourself." 

Mazeroux  did  so.  They  found  that  there  was  an  ex- 
press due  to  start  in  a  minute.  When  they  reached  the 
platform  Florence  was  stepping  into  a  compartment  in 
the  middle  of  the  train. 

The  engine  whistled. 

"Get  in,"  said  Don  Luis,  hiding  himself  as  best  he 
could.  "Telegraph  to  me  from  Rouen;  and  I'll  join  you 
this  evening.  Above  all,  keep  your  eyes  on  her.  Don't 
let  her  slip  between  your  fingers.  She's  very  clever,  you 
know." 

"But  why  don't  you  come  yourself,  Chief?  It  would 
be  much  better " 

"Out  of  the  question.  The  train  doesn't  stop  before 
Rouen;  and  I  couldn't  be  back  till  this  evening.  The 
meeting  at  the  Prefect's  is  at  five  o'clock." 

"And  you  insist  on  going?" 

"More  than  ever.     There,  jump  in!" 


HEIR  TO  THE  HUNDRED  MILLIONS     345 

He  pushed  him  into  one  of  the  end  carriages.  The 
train  started  and  soon  disappeared  in  the  tunnel. 

Then  Don  Luis  flung  himself  on  a  bench  in  a  waiting- 
room  and  remained  there  for  two  hours,  pretending  to 
read  the  newspapers.  But  his  eyes  wandered  and  his 
mind  was  haunted  by  the  agonizing  question  that  once 
more  forced  itself  upon  him:  was  Florence  guilty  or  not? 

It  was  five  o'clock  exactly  when  Major  Comte  d'Astrig- 
nac,  Maitre  Lepertuis,  and  the  secretary  of  the  American 
Embassy  were  shown  into  M.  Desmalions's  office.  At  the 
same  moment  some  one  entered  the  messengers'  room  and 
handed  in  his  card. 

The  messenger  on  duty  glanced  at  the  pasteboard, 
turned  his  head  quickly  toward  a  group  of  men  talking 
in  a  corner,  and  then  asked  the  newcomer: 

"Have  you  an  appointment,  sir?" 

"It's  not  necessary.  Just  say  that  I'm  here:  Don  Luis 
Perenna." 

A  kind  of  electric  shock  ran  through  the  little  group  in 
the  corner;  and  one  of  the  persons  forming  it  came  for- 
ward. It  was  Weber,  the  deputy  chief  detective. 

The  two  men  looked  each  other  straight  in  the  eyes. 
Bon  Luis  smiled  amiably.  Weber  was  livid;  he  shook 
in  every  limb  and  was  plainly  striving  to  contain  him- 
s*»lf 

Ddl. 

Near  him  stood  a  couple  of  journalists  and  four  de- 
tectives. 

"By  Jove!  the  beggars  are  there  for  me!"  thought  Don 
Luis.  "But  their  confusion  shows  that  they  did  not 
believe  that  I  should  have  the  cheek  to  come.  Are  they 
going  to  arrest  me?" 


346  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

Weber  did  not  move,  but  in  the  end  his  face  expressed 
a  certain  satisfaction  as  though  he  were  saying: 

"I've  got  you  this  time,  my  fine  fellow,  and  you  shan't 
escape  me." 

The  office  messenger  returned  and,  without  a  word,  led 
the  way  for  Don  Luis.  Perenna  passed  in  front  of  Weber 
with  the  politest  of  bows,  bestowed  a  friendly  little  nod 
on  the  detectives,  and  entered. 

The  Comte  d'Astrignac  hurried  up  to  him  at  once,  with 
hands  outstretched,  thus  showing  that  all  the  tittle-tattle 
in  no  way  affected  the  esteem  in  which  he  continued  to 
hold  Private  Perenna  of  the  Foreign  Legion.  But  the 
Prefect  of  Police  maintained  an  attitude  of  reserve  which 
was  very  significant.  He  went  on  turning  over  the  papers 
which  he  was  examining  and  conversed  in  a  low  voice 
with  the  solicitor  and  the  American  Secretary  of  Embassy. 

Don  Luis  thought  to  himself: 

"My  dear  Lupin,  there's  some  one  going  to  leave  this 
room  with  the  bracelets  on  his  wrists.  If  it's  not  the 
real  culprit,  it'll  be  you,  my  poor  old  chap." 

And  he  remembered  the  early  part  of  the  case,  when 
he  was  in  the  workroom  at  Fauville's  house,  before  the 
magistrates,  and  had  either  to  deliver  the  criminal  to 
justice  or  to  incur  the  penalty  of  immediate  arrest.  In 
the  same  way,  from  the  start  to  the  finish  of  the  struggle, 
he  had  been  obliged,  while  fighting  the  invisible  enemy, 
to  expose  himself  to  the  attacks  of  the  law  with  no  means 
of  defending  himself  except  by  indispensable  victories. 

Harassed  by  constant  onslaughts,  never  out  of  danger, 
he  had  successively  hurried  to  their  deaths  Marie  Fauville 
and  Gaston  Sauverand,  two  innocent  people  sacrificed  to 
the  cruel  laws  of  war.  Was  he  at  last  about  to  fight  the 


HEIR  TO  THE  HUNDRED  MILLIONS     347 

real  enemy,  or  would  he  himself  succumb  at  the  decisive 
moment? 

He  rubbed  his  hands  with  such  a  cheerful  gesture  that 
M.  Desmalions  could  not  help  looking  at  him.  Don  Luis 
wore  the  radiant  air  of  a  man  who  is  experiencing  a  pure 
joy  and  who  is  preparing  to  taste  others  even  greater. 

The  Prefect  of  Police  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  as 
though  asking  himself  what  that  devil  of  a  fellow  could 
be  so  pleased  with;  then  he  fumbled  through  his  papers 
once  more  and,  in  the  end,  said: 

"We  have  met  again,  gentlemen,  as  we  did  two  months 
ago,  to  come  to  a  definite  conclusion  about  the  Morning- 
ton  inheritance.  Senor  Caceres,  the  attache  of  the  Peru- 
vian legation,  will  not  be  here.  I  have  received  a  telegram 
from  Italy  to  tell  me  that  Senor  Caceres  is  seriously  ill. 
However,  his  presence  was  not  indispensable.  There  is 
no  one  lacking,  therefore  —  except  those,  alas,  whose 
claims  this  meeting  would  gladly  have  sanctioned,  that  is 
to  say,  Cosmo  Mornington's  heirs." 

"There  is  one  other  person  absent,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 
M.  Desmalions  looked  up.     The  speaker  was  Don  Luis. 
The  Prefect  hesitated  and  then  decided  to  ask  him  to 
explain. 

"Whom  do  you  mean?     What  person?" 
"The  murderer  of  the  Mornington  heirs." 
This  time  again  Don  Luis  compelled  attention  and,  in 
spite  of  the  resistance  which  he  encountered,  obliged  the 
others  to  take  notice  of  his  presence  and  to  yield  to  his 
ascendancy.     Whatever  happened,  they  had  to  listen  to 
him.     Whatever  happened,  they  had  to  discuss  with  him 
things  which  seemed  incredible,  but  which  were  possible 
because  he  put  them  into  words. 


548  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,"  he  asked,  "will  you  allow  me 
to  set  forth  the  facts  of  the  matter  as  it  now  stands? 
They  will  form  a  natural  sequel  and  conclusion  of  the 
interview  which  we  had  after  the  explosion  on  the  Boule- 
vard Suchet." 

M.  Desmalions's  silence  gave  Don  Luis  leave  to  speak. 
He  at  once  continued: 

"It  will  not  take  long,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  It  will  not 
take  long  for  two  reasons:  first,  because  M.  Fauville's 
confessions  remain  at  our  disposal  and  we  know  definitely 
the  monstrous  part  which  he  played;  and,  secondly,  be- 
cause, after  all,  the  truth,  however  complicated  it  may 
seem,  is  really  very  simple. 

"It  all  lies  in  the  objection  which  you,  Monsieur  le  Pre- 
fet, made  to  me  on  leaving  the  wrecked  house  on  the  Boule- 
vard Suchet:  'How  is  it,'  you  asked,  'that  the  Mornington 
inheritance  is  not  once  mentioned  in  Hippolyte  Fauville's 
confession? '  It  all  lies  in  that,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  Hip- 
polyte Fauville  did  not  say  a  word  about  the  inheritance; 
and  the  reason  evidently  is  that  he  did  not  know  of  it. 

"And  the  reason  why  Gaston  Sauverand  was  able  to 
tell  me  his  whole  sensational  story  without  making  the 
least  allusion  to  the  inheritance  was  that  the  inheritance 
played  no  sort  of  part  in  Gaston  Sauverand's  story.  He, 
too,  knew  nothing  of  it  before  those  events,  any  more  than 
Marie  Fauville  did,  or  Florence  Levasseur.  There  is  no 
denying  the  fact:  Hippolyte  Fauville  was  guided  by  re- 
venge and  by  revenge  alone.  If  not,  why  should  he  have 
acted  as  he  did,  seeing  that  Cosmo  Mornington's  millions 
reverted  to  him  by  the  fullest  of  rights?  Besides,  if  he 
had  wished  to  enjoy  those  millions,  he  would  not  have 
begun  by  killing  himself. 


HEIR  TO  THE  HUNDRED  MILLIONS     349 

"One  thing,  therefore,  is  certain:  the  inheritance  in  no 
way  affected  Hippolyte  Fauville's  resolves  or  actions. 
And,  nevertheless,  one  after  the  other,  with  inflexible 
regularity,  as  if  they  had  been  struck  down  in  the  very 
order  called  for  by  the  terms  of  the  Mornington  inheri- 
tance, they  all  disappeared:  Cosmo  Mornington,  then 
Hippolyte  Fauville,  then  Edmond  Fauville,  then  Marie 
Fauville,  then  Gaston  Sauverand.  First,  the  possessor 
of  the  fortune;  next,  all  those  whom  he  had  appointed  his 
legatees;  and,  I  repeat,  in  the  very  order  in  which  the  will 
enabled  them  to  lay  claim  to  the  fortune! 

"Is  it  not  strange?"  asked  Perenna,  "and  are  we  not 
bound  to  suppose  that  there  was  a  controlling  mind  at  the 
back  of  it  all?  Are  we  not  bound  to  admit  that  the  for- 
midable contest  was  influenced  by  that  inheritance,  and 
that,  above  the  hatred  and  jealousy  of  the  loathsome 
Fauville,  there  loomed  a  being  endowed  with  even  more 
tremendous  energy,  pursuing  a  tangible  aim  and  driving 
to  their  deaths,  one  by  one,  like  so  many  numbered  vic- 
tims, all  the  unconscious  actors  in  the  tragedy  of  which 
he  tied  and  of  which  he  is  now  untying  the  threads?" 

Don  Luis  leaned  forward  and  continued  earnestly: 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  the  public  instinct  so  thoroughly 
agrees  with  me,  a  section  of  the  police,  with  M.  Weber, 
the  deputy  chief  detective  at  its  head,  argues  in  a  manner 
so  exactly  identical  with  my  own,  that  the  existence  of 
that  being  is  at  once  confirmed  in  every  mind.  There 
had  to  be  some  one  to  act  as  the  controlling  brain,  to 
provide  the  will  and  the  energy.  That  some  one  was 
myself.  After  all,  why  not?  Did  not  I  possess  the  con- 
dition which  was  indispensable  to  make  any  one  interested 
in  the  murders?  Was  I  not  Cosmo  Mornington's  heir? 


350  THE  TE^TH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"I  will  not  defend  myself.  It  may  be  that  outside 
interference,  it  may  be  that  circumstances,  will  oblige 
you,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  to  take  unjustifiable  measures 
against  me;  but  I  will  not  insult  you  by  believing  for  one 
second  that  you  can  imagine  the  man  whose  acts  you 
have  been  able  to  judge  for  the  last  two  months  capable 
of  such  crimes.  And  yet  the  public  instinct  is  right  in 
accusing  me. 

"Apart  from  Hippolyte  Fauville,  there  is  necessarily  a 
criminal;  and  that  criminal  is  necessarily  Cosmo  Morn- 
ington's  heir.  As  I  am  not  the  man,  another  heir  of 
Cosmo  Mornington  exists.  It  is  he  whom  I  accuse,  Mon- 
sieur le  Prefet. 

"There  is  something  more  than  a  dead  man's  will  in 
the  wicked  business  that  is  being  enacted  before  us.  We 
thought  for  a  time  that  there  was  only  that;  but  there  is 
something  more.  I  have  not  been  fighting  a  dead  man 
all  the  time;  more  than  once  I  have  felt  the  very  breath 
of  life  strike  against  my  face.  More  than  once  I  have 
felt  the  teeth  of  the  tiger  seeking  to  tear  me. 

"The  dead  man  did  much,  but  he  did  not  do  everything. 
And,  even  then,  was  he  alone  in  doing  what  he  did?  Was 
the  being  of  whom  I  speak  merely  one  who  executed  his 
orders?  Or  was  he  also  the  accomplice  who  helped  him 
in  his  scheme?  I  do  not  know.  But  he  certainly  con- 
tinued a  work  which  he  perhaps  began  by  inspiring  and 
which,  in  any  case,  he  turned  to  his  own  profit,  resolutely 
completed  and  carried  out  to  the  very  end.  And  he  did 
so  because  he  knew  of  Cosmo  Mornington's  will.  It  is  he 
whom  I  accuse,  Monsieur  le  Prefet. 

"I  accuse  him  at  the  very  least  of  that  part  of  the  crimes 
and  felonies  which  cannot  be  attributed  to  Hippolyte 


HEIR  TO  THE  HUNDRED  MILLIONS     351 

Fauville.  I  accuse  him  of  breaking  open  the  drawer  of 
the  desk  in  which  Maitre  Lepertuis,  Cosmo  Mornington's 
solicitor,  had  put  his  client's  will.  I  accuse  him  of  en- 
tering Cosmo  Mornington's  room  and  substituting  a  phial 
containing  a  toxic  fluid  for  one  of  the  phials  of  glycero- 
phosphate  which  Cosmo  Mornington  used  for  his  hypo- 
dermic injections.  I  accuse  him  of  playing  the  part  of  a 
doctor  who  came  to  certify  Cosmo  Mornington's  death 
and  of  delivering  a  false  certificate.  I  accuse  him  of 
supplying  Hippoly te  Fauville  with  the  poison  which  killed 
successively  Inspector  Verot,  Edmond  Fauville,  and  Hip- 
polyte  Fauville  himself.  I  accuse  him  of  arming  and 
turning  against  me  the  hand  of  Gaston  Sauverand,  who, 
acting  under  his  advice  and  his  instructions,  tried  three 
times  to  take  my  life  and  ended  by  causing  the  death  of 
my  chauffeur.  I  accuse  him  of  profiting  by  the  relations 
which  Gaston  Sauverand  had  established  with  the  in- 
firmary in  order  to  communicate  with  Marie  Fauville,  and 
of  arranging  for  Marie  Fauville  to  receive  the  hypodermic 
syringe  and  the  phial  of  poison  with  which  the  poor 
woman  was  able  to  carry  out  her  plans  of  suicide." 

Perenna  paused  to  note  the  effect  of  these  charges. 
Then  he  went  on: 

"I  accuse  him  of  conveying  to  Gaston  Sauverand,  by 
some  unknown  means,  the  newspaper  cuttings  about  Marie 
Fauville's  death  and,  at  the  same  time,  foreseeing  the 
inevitable  results  of  his  act.  To  sum  up,  therefore,  with- 
out mentioning  his  share  in  the  other  crimes  —  the  death 
of  Inspector  Verot,  the  death  of  my  chauffeur  —  I  accuse 
him  of  killing  Cosmo  Mornington,  Edmond  Fauville, 
Hippolyte  Fauville,  Marie  Fauville,  and  Gaston  Sauve- 
rand; in  plain  words,  of  killing  all  those  who  stood  between 


352  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

the  millions  and  himself.  These  last  words,  Monsieur 
le  Prefet,  will  tell  you  clearly  what  I  have  in  my  mind. 

"When  a  man  does  away  with  five  of  his  fellow  crea- 
tures in  order  to  secure  a  certain  number  of  millions,  it 
means  that  he  is  convinced  that  this  proceeding  will  posi- 
tively and  mathematically  insure  his  entering  into  posses- 
sion of  the  millions.  In  short,  when  a  man  does  away 
with  a  millionaire  and  his  four  successive  heirs,  it  means 
that  he  himself  is  the  millionaire's  fifth  heir.  The  man 
will  be  here  in  a  moment." 

"What!" 

It  was  a  spontaneous  exclamation  on  the  part  of  the 
Prefect  of  Police,  who  was  forgetting  the  whole  of  Don 
Luis  Perenna's  powerful  and  closely  reasoned  argument, 
and  thinking  only  of  the  stupefying  apparition  which 
Don  Luis  announced.  Don  Luis  replied: 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet;  his  visit  is  the  logical  outcome  of 
my  accusations.  Remember  that  Cosmo  Mornington's 
will  explicitly  states  that  no  heir's  claim  will  be  valid  un- 
less he  is  present  at  to-day's  meeting." 

"And  suppose  he  does  not  come?"  asked  the  Prefect, 
thus  showing  that  Don  Luis's  conviction  had  gradually 
got  the  better  of  his  doubts. 

"He  will  come,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  If  not,  there 
would  have  been  no  sense  in  all  this  business.  Limited 
to  the  crimes  and  other  actions  of  Hippolyte  Fauville,  it 
could  be  looked  upon  as  the  preposterous  work  of  a  mad- 
man. Continued  to  the  deaths  of  Marie  Fauville  and 
Gaston  Sauverand,  it  demands,  as  its  inevitable  outcome, 
the  appearance  of  a  person  who,  as  the  last  descendant  of 
the  Roussels  of  Saint-Etienne  and  consequently  as  Cosmo 
Mornington's  absolute  heir,  taking  precedence  of  myself, 


HEIR  TO  THE  HUNDRED  MILLIONS      353 

will  come  to  claim  the  hundred  millions  which  he  has  won 
by  means  of  his  incredible  audacity." 

"And  suppose  he  does  not  come?  "  M.  Desmalions  once 
more  exclaimed,  in  a  more  vehement  tone. 

"Then,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  you  may  take  it  that  I  am 
the  culprit;  and  you  have  only  to  arrest  me.  This  day, 
between  five  and  six  o'clock,  you  will  see  before  you,  in 
this  room,  the  person  who  killed  the  Mornington  heirs. 
It  is,  humanly  speaking,  impossible  that  this  should  not 
be  so.  Consequently,  the  law  will  be  satisfied  in  any  cir- 
cumstances. He  or  I:  the  position  is  quite  simple." 

M.  Desmalions  was  silent.  He  gnawed  his  moustache 
thoughtfully  and  walked  round  and  round  the  table, 
within  the  narrow  circle  formed  by  the  others.  It  was 
obvious  that  objections  to  the  supposition  were  springing 
up  in  his  mind.  In  the  end,  he  muttered,  as  though  speak- 
ing to  himself: 

"No,  no.  For,  after  all,  how  are  we  to  explain  that 
the  man  should  have  waited  until  now  to  claim  his 
rights?" 

"An  accident,  perhaps,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  an  obstacle 
of  some  kind.  Or  else  —  one  can  never  tell  —  the  per- 
verse longing  for  a  more  striking  sensation.  And  remem- 
ber, Monsieur  le  Prefet,  how  minutely  and  subtly  the 
whole  business  was  worked.  Each  event  took  place  at 
the  very  moment  fixed  by  Hippolyte  Fauville.  Cannot 
we  take  it  that  his  accomplice  is  pursuing  this  method  to 
the  end  and  that  he  will  not  reveal  himself  until  the  last 
minute?'* 

M.  Desmalions  exclaimed,  with  a  sort  of  anger: 

"No,  no,  and  again  no!  It  is  not  possible.  If  a  crea- 
ture monstrous  enough  to  commit  such  a  series  of  mur- 


354  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

ders  exists,  he  will  not  be  such  a  fool  as  to  deliver  himself 
into  our  hands." 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  he  does  not  know  the  danger  that 
threatens  him  if  he  comes  here,  because  no  one  has  even 
contemplated  the  theory  of  his  existence.  Besides,  what 
risk  does  he  run?'* 

"What  risk?  Why,  if  he  has  really  committed  those 
murders " 

"He  has  committed  them,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  He  has 
caused  them  to  be  committed,  which  is  a  different  thing. 
And  you  now  see  where  the  man's  unsuspected  strength 
lies!  He  does  not  act  in  person.  From  the  day  when 
the  truth  appeared  to  me,  I  have  succeeded  in  gradually 
discovering  his  means  of  action,  in  laying  bare  the  ma- 
chinery which  he  controls,  the  tricks  which  he  employs. 
He  does  not  act  in  person.  There  you  have  his  method. 
You  will  find  that  it  is  the  same  throughout  the  series 
of  murders. 

"In  appearance,  Cosmo  Mornington  died  of  the  results 
of  a  carelessly  administered  injection.  In  reality,  it  was 
this  man  who  caused  the  injection  to  prove  fatal.  In 
appearance,  Inspector  Verot  was  killed  by  Hippolyte 
Fauville.  In  reality,  it  must  have  been  this  man  who 
contrived  the  murder  by  pointing  out  the  necessity  to 
Fauville  and,  so  to  speak,  guiding  his  hand.  And,  in  the 
same  way,  in  appearance,  Fauville  killed  his  son  and  com- 
mitted suicide;  Marie  Fauville  committed  suicide;  Gaston 
Sauverand  committed  suicide.  In  reality,  it  was  this  man 
who  wanted  them  dead,  who  prompted  them  to  com- 
mit suicide,  and  who  supplied  them  with  the  means  of 
death. 

"There  you  have  the  method,  and  there,  Monsieur  le 


HEIR  TO  THE  HUNDRED  MILLIONS     355 

Prefet,  you  have  the  man."  And,  in  a  lower  voice,  that 
contained  a  sort  of  apprehension,  he  added,  "I  confess 
that  never  before,  in  the  course  of  a  life  that  has  been  full 
of  strange  meetings,  have  I  encountered  a  more  terrifying 
person,  acting  with  more  devilish  ability  or  greater  psy- 
chological insight." 

His  words  created  an  ever-increasing  sensation  among 
his  hearers.  They  really  saw  that  invisible  being.  He 
took  shape  in  their  imaginations.  They  waited  for  him 
to  arrive.  Twice  Don  Luis  had  turned  to  the  door  and 
listened.  And  his  action  did  more  than  anything  else  to 
conjure  up  the  image  of  the  man  who  was  coming. 

M.  Desmalions  said: 

"Whether  he  acted  in  person  or  caused  others  to 
act,  the  law,  once  it  has  hold  of  him,  will  know  how 
to- 

"The  law  will  find  it  no  easy  matter,  Monsieur  le  Pre- 
fet! A  man  of  his  powers  and  resource  must  have  fore- 
seen everything,  even  his  arrest,  even  the  accusation  of 
which  he  would  be  the  subject;  and  there  is  little  to  be 
brought  against  him  but  moral  charges  without  proofs." 

"Then  you  think  - 

"I  think,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  that  the  thing  will  be 
to  accept  his  explanations  as  quite  natural  and  not  to 
show  any  distrust.  What  you  want  is  to  know  who 
he  is.  Later  on,  before  long,  you  will  be  able  to  unmask 
him." 

The  Prefect  of  Police  continued  to  walk  round  the  table. 
Major  d'Astrignac  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  Perenna,  whose 
coolness  amazed  him.  The  solicitor  and  the  secretary 
of  Embassy  seemed  greatly  excited.  In  fact  nothing  could 
be  more  sensational  than  the  thought  that  filled  all  their 


356  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

minds.  Was  the  abominable  murderer  about  to  appear 
before  them? 

"Silence!"  said  the  Prefect,  stopping  his  walk. 

Some  one  had  crossed  the  anteroom. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door. 

"Come  in!" 

The  office  messenger  entered,  carrying  a  card-tray.  On 
the  tray  was  a  letter;  and  in  addition  there  was  one  of 
those  printed  slips  on  which  callers  write  their  name  and 
the  object  of  their  visit. 

M.  Desmalions  hastened  toward  the  messenger.  He 
hesitated  a  moment  before  taking  up  the  slip.  He  was 
very  pale.  Then  he  glanced  at  it  quickly. 

"Oh!"  he  said,  with  a  start. 

He  looked  toward  Don  Luis,  reflected,  and  then,  taking 
the  letter,  he  said  to  the  messenger : 

"Is  the  bearer  outside?" 

"In  the  anteroom,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"Show  the  person  in  when  I  ring." 

The  messenger  left  the  room. 

M.  Desmalions  stood  in  front  of  his  desk,  without  moving. 
For  the  second  time  Don  Luis  met  his  eyes;  and  a  feeling  of 
perturbation  came  over  him.  What  was  happening? 

With  a  sharp  movement  the  Prefect  of  Police  opened 
the  envelope  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  unfolded  the  lettei 
and  began  to  read  it. 

The  others  watched  his  every  gesture,  watched  the 
least  change  of  expression  on  his  face.  Were  Perenna's 
predictions  about  to  be  fulfilled?  Was  a  fifth  heir  putting 
in  his  claim? 

The  moment  he  had  read  the  first  lines,  M.  Desmaliona 
looked  up  and,  addressing  Don  Luis,  murmured: 


HEIR  TO  THE  HUNDRED  MILLIONS     357 

"You  were  right,  Monsieur.     This  is  a  claim." 
"On  whose  part,  Monsieur  le  Prefet?"  Don  Luis  could 
not  help  asking. 

M.  Desmalions  did  not  reply.  He  finished  reading  the 
letter.  Then  he  read  it  again,  with  the  attention  of  a 
man  weighing  every  word.  Lastly,  he  read  aloud: 

"MONSIEUR  LE  PREFET: 

"A  chance  correspondence  has  revealed  to  me  the  existence 
of  an  unknown  heir  of  the  Roussel  family.  It  was  only  to-day 
that  I  was  able  to  procure  the  documents  necessary  for  identify- 
ing this  heir;  and,  owing  to  unforeseen  obstacles,  it  is  only 
at  the  last  moment  that  I  am  able  to  send  them  to  you  by  the 
person  whom  they  concern.  Respecting  a  secret  which  is  not 
mine  and  wishing,  as  a  woman,  to  remain  outside  a  business 
in  which  I  have  been  only  accidentally  involved,  I  beg  you, 
Monsieur  le  Prefet,  to  excuse  me  if  I  do  not  feel  called  upon 
to  sign  my  name  to  this  letter." 

So  Perenna  had  seen  rightly  and  events  were  justifying 
his  forecast.  Some  one  was  putting  in  an  appearance  with' 
in  the  period  indicated.  The  claim  was  made  in  good 
time.  And  the  very  way  in  which  things  were  happening 
at  the  exact  moment  was  curiously  suggestive  of  the  me- 
chanical exactness  that  had  governed  the  whole  business. 

The  last  question  still  remained :  who  was  this  unknown 
person,  the  possible  heir,  and  therefore  the  five  or  six  fold 
murderer?  He  was  waiting  in  the  next  room.  There  was 
nbthing  but  a  wall  between  him  and  the  others.  He  was 
coming  in.  They  would  see  him.  They  would  know  who 
he  was. 

The  Prefect  suddenly  rang  the  bell. 

A  few  tense  seconds  elapsed.     Oddly  enough,  M.  Des- 


358  THE  TEETH  OP  THE  TIGER 

malions  did  not  remove  his  eyes  from  Perenna.  Don 
Luis  remained  quite  master  of  himself,  but  restless  and 
uneasy  at  heart. 

The  door  opened.     The  messenger  showed  some  one  in. 

It  was  Florence  Levasseur. 


CHAPTER  SIXTEEN 

WEBER   TAKES   HIS  REVENGE 

DON  LUIS  was  for  one  moment  amazed.  Florence 
Levasseur  here !  Florence,  whom  he  had  left  in 
the  train  under  Mazeroux's  supervision  and  for 
whom  it  was  physically  impossible  to  be  back  in  Paris 
before  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening! 

Then,  despite  his  bewilderment,  he  at  once  understood. 
Florence,  knowing  that  she  was  being  followed,  had  drawn 
them  after  her  to  the  Gare  Saint-Lazare  and  simply  walked 
through  the  railway  carriage,  getting  out  on  the  other 
platform,  while  the  worthy  Mazeroux  went  on  in  the 
train  to  keep  his  eye  on  the  traveller  who  was  not  there. 

But  suddenly  the  full  horror  of  the  situation  struck 
him.  Florence  was  here  to  claim  the  inheritance;  and 
her  claim,  as  he  himself  had  said,  was  a  proof  of  the  most 
terrible  guilt. 

Acting  on  an  irresistible  impulse,  Don  Luis  leaped  to 
the  girl's  side,  seized  her  by  the  arm  and  said,  with  almost 
malevolent  force: 

"What  are  you  doing  here?  What  have  you  come  for? 
Why  did  you  not  let  me  know?" 

M.  Desmalions  stepped  between  them.  But  Don  Luis, 
without  letting  go  of  the  girl's  arm,  exclaimed: 

"Oh,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  don't  you  see  that  this  is  all  a 
mistake?  The  person  whom  we  are  expecting,  about 

359 


360  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

whom  I  told  you,  is  not  this  one.  The  other  is  keeping  in 
the  background,  as  usual.  Why  it's  impossible  that  Flor- 
ence Levasseur ' 

"I  have  no  preconceived  opinion  on  the  subject  of  this 
young  lady,"  said  the  Prefect  of  Police,  in  an  authoritative 
voice.  "But  it  is  my  duty  to  question  her  about  the 
circumstances  that  brought  her  here;  and  I  shall  certainly 
do  so." 

He  released  the  girl  from  Don  Luis's  grasp  and  made  her 
take  a  seat.  He  himself  sat  down  at  his  desk;  and  it  was 
easy  to  see  how  great  an  impression  the  girl's  presence 
made  upon  him.  It  afforded  so  to  speak  an  illustration 
of  Don  Luis's  argument. 

The  appearance  on  the  scene  of  a  new  person,  laying 
claim  to  the  inheritance,  was  undeniably,  to  any  logical 
mind,  the  appearance  on  the  scene  of  a  criminal  who  her- 
self brought  with  her  the  proofs  of  her  crimes.  Don  Luis 
felt  this  clearly  and,  from  that  moment,  did  not  take  his 
eyes  off  the  Prefect  of  Police. 

Florence  looked  at  them  by  turns  as  though  the  whole 
thing  was  the  most  insoluble  mystery  to  her.  Her  beau- 
tiful dark  eyes  retained  their  customary  serenity.  She 
no  longer  wore  her  nurse's  uniform;  and  her  gray  gown, 
very  simply  cut  and  devoid  of  ornaments,  showed  her 
graceful  figure.  She  was  grave  and  unemotional  as 
usual. 

M.  Desmalions  said: 

"Explain  yourself,  Mademoiselle." 

She  answered : 

"I  have  nothing  to  explain,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  I 
have  come  to  you  on  an  errand  which  I  am  fulfilling  with- 
out knowing  exactly  what  it  is  about." 


WEBER  TAKES  HIS  REVENGE  361 

"What  do  you  mean?  Without  knowing  what  it  is 
about?" 

"  I  will  tell  you,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  Some  one  in  whom 
I  have  every  confidence  and  for  whom  I  entertain  the 
greatest  respect  asked  me  to  hand  you  certain  papers. 
They  appear  to  concern  the  question  which  is  the  object 
of  your  meeting  to-day." 

"The  question  of  awarding  the  Mornington  inheri- 
tance?" 

"Yes." 

"You  know  that,  if  this  claim  had  not  been  made  in 
the  course  of  the  present  sitting,  it  would  have  had  no 
effect?" 

"I  came  as  soon  as  the  papers  were  handed  to  me.'* 

"Why  were  they  not  handed  to  you  an  hour  or  two 
earlier?" 

"I  was  not  there.  I  had  to  leave  the  house  where  I 
am  staying,  in  a  hurry." 

Perenna  did  not  doubt  that  it  was  his  intervention  that 
upset  the  enemy's  plans  by  causing  Florence  to  take  to 
flight. 

The  Prefect  continued: 

"So  you  are  ignorant  of  the  reasons  why  you  received 
the  papers?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

"And  evidently  you  are  also  ignorant  of  how  far  they 
concern  you?" 

"They  do  not  concern  me,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

M.  Desmalions  smiled  and,  looking  into  Florence's  eyes, 
said,  plainly: 

"According  to  the  letter  that  accompanies  them,  they 
concern  you  intimately.  It  seems  that  they  prove,  in 


362  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

the  most  positive  manner,  that  you  are  descended  from 
the  Roussel  family  and  that  you  consequently  have  every 
right  to  the  Mornington  inheritance." 

"I?" 

The  cry  was  a  spontaneous  exclamation  of  astonishment 
and  protest. 

And  she  at  once  went  on,  insistently: 

"I,  a  right  to  the  inheritance?  I  have  none  at  all, 
Monsieur  le  Prefet,  none  at  all.  I  never  knew  Mr.  Morn- 
ington. What  is  this  story?  There  is  some  mistake." 

She  spoke  with  great  animation  and  with  an  apparent 
frankness  that  would  have  impressed  any  other  man  than 
the  Prefect  of  Police.  But  how  could  he  forget  Don  Luis's 
arguments  and  the  accusation  made  beforehand  against 
the  person  who  would  arrive  at  the  meeting? 

"  Give  me  the  papers,"  he  said. 

She  took  from  her  handbag  a  blue  envelope  which  was 
not  fastened  down  and  which  he  found  to  contain  a  num- 
ber of  faded  documents,  damaged  at  the  folds  and  torn  in 
different  places. 

He  examined  them  amid  perfect  silence,  read  them 
through,  studied  them  thoroughly,  inspected  the  signa- 
tures and  the  seals  through  a  magnifying  glass,  and  said: 

"They  bear  every  sign  of  being  genuine.  The  seals 
are  official." 

"Then,  Monsieur  le  Prefet ?"  said  Florence,  in  a 

trembling  voice. 

"Then,  Mademoiselle,  let  me  tell  you  that  your  igno- 
rance strikes  me  as  most  incredible." 

And,  turning  to  the  solicitor,  he  said: 

"Listen  briefly  to  what  these  documents  contain  and 
prove.  Gaston  Sauverand,  Cosmo  Mornington's  heir  in 


WEBER  TAKES  HIS  REVENGE  363 

the  fourth  line,  had,  as  you  know,  an  elder  brother,  called 
Raoul,  who  lived  in  the  Argentine  Republic.  This 
brother,  before  his  death,  sent  to  Europe,  in  the  charge  of 
an  old  nurse,  a  child  of  five  who  was  none  other  than  his 
daughter,  a  natural  but  legally  recognized  daughter  whom 
he  had  had  by  Mile.  Levasseur,  a  French  teacher  at 
Buenos  Ayres. 

"Here  is  the  birth  certificate.  Here  is  the  signed  dec- 
laration written  entirely  in  the  father's  hand.  Here  is 
the  affidavit  signed  by  the  old  nurse.  Here  are  the  deposi- 
tions of  three  friends,  merchants  or  solicitors  at  Buenos 
Ayres.  And  here  are  the  death  certificates  of  the  father 
and  mother. 

"All  these  documents  have  been  legalized  and  bear  the 
seals  of  the  French  consulate.  For  the  present,  I  have 
no  reason  to  doubt  them;  and  I  am  bound  to  look  upon 
Florence  Levasseur  as  Raoul  Sauverand's  daughter  and 
Gaston  Sauverand's  niece." 

"Gaston  Sauvarand's  niece?  .  .  .  His  niece?" 
stammered  Florence. 

The  mention  of  a  father  whom  she  had,  so  to  speak, 
never  known,  left  her  unmoved.  But  she  began  to  weep 
at  the  recollection  of  Gaston  Sauverand,  whom  she  loved 
so  fondly  and  to  whom  she  found  herself  linked  by  such  a 
close  relationship. 

Were  her  tears  sincere?  Or  were  they  the  tears  of  an 
actress  able  to  play  her  part  down  to  the  slightest  details? 
Were  those  facts  really  revealed  to  her  for  the  first  time? 
Or  was  she  acting  the  emotions  which  the  revelation  of 
those  facts  would  produce  in  her  under  natural  conditions? 

Don  Luis  observed  M.  Desmalions  even  more  narrowly 
than  he  did  the  girl,  and  tried  to  read  the  secret  thoughts 


364  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

of  the  man  with  whom  the  decision  lay.  And  suddenly 
he  became  certain  that  Florence's  arrest  was  a  matter 
resolved  upon  as  definitely  as  the  arrest  of  the  most  mon- 
strous criminal.  Then  he  went  up  to  her  and  said: 

"Florence." 

She  looked  at  him  with  her  tear-dimmed  eyes  and  made 
no  reply. 

Slowly,  he  said: 

"To  defend  yourself,  Florence  —  for,  though  I  am  sure 
you  do  not  know  it,  you  are  under  that  obligation  —  you 
must  understand  the  terrible  position  in  which  events 
have  placed  you. 

"Florence,  the  Prefect  of  Police  has  been  led  by  the 
logical  outcome  of  those  events  to  come  to  the  final  con- 
clusion that  the  person  entering  this  room  with  an  evident 
claim  to  the  inheritance  is  the  person  who  killed  the  Morn- 
ington  heirs.  You  entered  the  room,  Florence,  and  you 
are  undoubtedly  Cosmo  Mornington's  heir." 

He  saw  her  shake  from  head  to  foot  and  turn  as  pale 
as  death.  Nevertheless,  she  uttered  no  word  and  made 
no  gesture  of  protest. 

He  went  on: 

"It  is  a  formal  accusation.  Do  you  say  nothing  in 
reply?" 

She  waited  some  time  and  then  declared: 

"I  have  nothing  to  say.  The  whole  thing  is  a  mystery. 
What  would  you  have  me  reply?  I  do  not  understand!" 

Don  Luis  stood  quivering  with  anguish  in  front  of  her. 
He  stammered : 

"Is  that  all?     Do  you  accept?" 

After  a  second,  she  said,  in  an  undertone : 

"Explain  yourself,  I  beg  of  you.     What  you  mean,  I 


WEBER  TAKES  HIS  REVENGE          365 

suppose,  is  that,  if  I  do  not  reply,  I  accept  the  accusa^ 
tion?" 

"Yes." 

"And  then?" 

"Arrest  —  prison " 

"Prison!" 

She  seemed  to  be  suffering  hideously.  Her  beautiful 
features  were  distorted  with  fear.  To  her  mind,  prison 
evidently  represented  the  torments  undergone  by  Marie 
and  Sauverand.  It  must  mean  despair,  shame,  death,  all 
those  horrors  which  Marie  and  Sauverand  had  been  unable 
to  avoid  and  of  which  she  in  her  turn  would  become  the 
victim. 

An  awful  sense  of  hopelessness  overcame  her,  and  she 
moaned : 

"How  tired  I  am!  I  feel  that  there  is  nothing  to  be 
done!  I  am  stifled  by  the  mystery  around  me!  Oh,  if 
I  could  only  see  and  understand!" 

There  was  another  long  pause.  Leaning  over  her,  M. 
Desmalions  studied  her  face  with  concentrated  attention. 
Then,  as  she  did  not  speak,  he  put  his  hand  to  the  bell  on 
his  table  and  struck  it  three  times. 

Don  Luis  did  not  stir  from  where  he  stood,  with  his 
eyes  despairingly  fixed  on  Florence.  A  battle  was  raging 
within  him  between  his  love  and  generosity,  which  led 
him  to  believe  the  girl,  and  his  reason,  which  obliged  him 
to  suspect  her.  Was  she  innocent  or  guilty?  He  did  not 
know.  Everything  was  against  her.  And  yet  why  had 
he  never  ceased  to  love  her? 

Weber  entered,  followed  by  his  men.  M.  Desmalions 
spoke  to  him  and  pointed  to  Florence.  Weber  went  up 
to  her. 


366  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Florence!"  said  Don  Luis. 

She  looked  at  him  and  looked  at  Weber  and  his  men; 
and,  suddenly,  realizing  what  was  coming,  she  retreated, 
staggered  for  a  moment,  bewildered  and  fainting,  and 
fell  back  in  Don  Luis's  arms: 

"Oh,  save  me,  save  me!     Do  save  me!" 

The  action  was  so  natural  and  unconstrained,  the  cry 
of  distress  so  clearly  denoted  the  alarm  which  only  the 
innocent  can  feel,  that  Don  Luis  was  promptly  convinced. 
A  fervent  belief  in  her  lightened  his  heart.  His  doubts, 
his  caution,  his  hesitation,  his  anguish :  all  these  vanished 
before  a  certainty  that  dashed  upon  him  like  an  irresistible 
wave.  And  he  cried: 

"No,  no,  that  must  not  be!  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  there 
are  things  that  cannot  be  permitted " 

He  stooped  over  Florence,  whom  he  was  holding  so 
firmly  in  his  arms  that  nobody  could  have  taken  her  from 
him.  Their  eyes  met.  His  face  was  close  to  the  girl's. 
He  quivered  with  emotion  at  feeling  her  throbbing,  so 
weak,  so  utterly  helpless;  and  he  said  to  her  passionately, 
in  a  voice  too  low  for  any  but  her  to  hear: 

'*!  love  you,  I  love  you.  .  .  .  Ah,  Florence,  if 
you  only  knew  what  I  feel:  how  I  suffer  and  how  happy 
I  am!  Oh,  Florence,  I  love  you,  I  love  you " 

Weber  had  stood  aside,  at  a  sign  from  the  Prefect,  who 
wanted  to  witness  the  unexpected  conflict  between  those 
two  mysterious  beings,  Don  Luis  Perenna  and  Florence 
Levasseur. 

Don  Luis  unloosed  his  arms  and  placed  the  girl  in  a 
chair.  Then,  putting  his  two  hands  on  her  shoulders, 
face  to  face  with  her,  he  said: 

"Though  you  do  not  understand,  Florence,  I  am  be- 


WEBER  TAKES  HIS  REVENGE  367 

ginning  to  understand  a  good  deal;  and  I  can  already 
almost  see  my  way  in  the  mystery  that  terrifies  you. 
Florence,  listen  to  me.  It  is  not  you  who  are  doing  all 
this,  is  it?  There  is-  somebody  else  behind  you,  above 
you  —  somebody  who  gives  you  your  instructions,  isn't 
there,  while  you  yourself  don't  know  where  he  is  leading 
you?" 

"Nobody  is  instructing  me.  What  do  you  mean?  Ex- 
plain." 

"Yes,  you  are  not  alone  in  your  life.  There  are  many 
things  which  you  do  because  you  are  told  to  do  them  and 
because  you  think  them  right  and  because  you  do  not 
know  their  consequences  or  even  that  they  can  have  any 
consequences.  Answer  my  question:  are  you  absolutely 
free?  Are  you  not  yielding  to  some  influence?" 

The  girl  seemed  to  have  come  to  herself,  and  her  face 
recovered  some  of  its  usual  calmness.  Nevertheless,  it 
seemed  as  if  Don  Luis's  question  made  an  impression  on 
her. 

"No,"  she  said,  "there  is  no  influence  —  none  at  all  — 
I'm  sure  of  it." 

He  insisted,  with  growing  eagerness: 

"No,  you  are  not  sure;  don't  say  that.  Some  one  is 
dominating  you  without  your  knowing  it.  Think  for  a 
moment.  You  are  Cosmo  Mornington's  heir,  heir  to 
a  fortune  which  you  don't  care  about,  I  know,  I  swear! 
Well,  if  you  don't  want  that  fortune,  to  whom  will  it  be- 
long? Answer  me.  Is  there  any  one  who  is  interested 
or  believes  himself  interested  in  seeing  you  rich?  The 
whole  question  lies  in  that.  Is  your  life  linked  with  that 
of  some  one  else?  Is  he  a  friend  of  yours?  Are  you  en- 
gaged to  him?" 


368  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

She  gave  a  start  of  revolt. 

"Oh,  never!  The  man  of  whom  you  speak  is  incapa- 
ble- 

"Ah,"  he  cried,  overcome  with  jealousy,  "you  confess 
it!  So  the  man  of  whom  I  speak  exists!  I  swear  that 
the  villain " 

He  turned  toward  M.  Desmalions,  his  face  convulsed 
with  hatred.  He  made  no  further  effort  to  contain  himself : 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  we  are  in  sight  of  the  goal.  I 
know  the  road  that  will  lead  us  to  it.  The  wild  beast 
shall  be  hunted  down  to-night,  or  to-morrow  at  least. 
Monsieur  le  Prefet,  the  letter  that  accompanied  those 
documents,  the  unsigned  letter  which  this  young  lady 
handed  you,  was  written  by  the  mother  superior  who 
manages  a  nursing-home  in  the  Avenue  des  Ternes. 

"By  making  immediate  inquiries  at  that  nursing-home, 
by  questioning  the  superior  and  confronting  her  with 
Mile.  Levasseur,  we  shall  discover  the  identity  of  the 
criminal  himself.  But  we  must  not  lose  a  minute,  or  we 
shall  be  too  late  and  the  wild  beast  will  have  fled." 

His  outburst  was  irresistible.  There  was  no  fighting 
against  the  violence  of  his  conviction.  Still,  M.  Desma- 
lions objected: 

"Mile.  Levasseur  could  tell  us " 

"She  will  not  speak,  or  at  least  not  till  later,  when  the 
man  has  been  unmasked  in  her  presence.  Monsieur  le 
Prefet,  I  entreat  you  to  have  the  same  confidence  in  me 
as  before.  Have  not  all  my  promises  been  fulfilled?  Have 
confidence,  Monsieur  le  Prefet;  cast  aside  your  doubts. 
Remember  how  Marie  Fauville  and  Gaston  Sauverand 
were  overwhelmed  with  charges,  the  most  serious  charges, 
and  how  they  succumbed  in  spite  of  their  innocence. 


WEBER  TAKES  HIS  REVENGE  369 

"Does  the  law  wish  to  see  Florence  Levasseur  sacrificed 
as  the  two  others  were?  And,  besides,  what  I  ask  for  is 
not  her  release,  but  the  means  to  defend  her  —  that  is  to 
say,  an  hour  or  two's  delay.  Let  Deputy  Chief  Weber 
be  responsible  for  her  safe  custody.  Let  your  detectives 
go  with  us:  these  and  more  as  well,  for  we  cannot  have 
too  many  to  capture  the  loathsome  brute  in  his  lair." 

M.  Desmalions  did  not  reply.  After  a  brief  moment 
he  took  Weber  aside  and  talked  to  him  for  some  minutes. 
M.  Desmalions  did  not  seem  very  favourably  disposed 
toward  Don  Luis's  request.  But  Weber  was  heard  to 
say: 

"You  need  have  no  fear,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  We  run 
no  risk." 

And  M.  Desmalions  yielded. 

A  few  moments  later  Don  Luis  Perenna  and  Florence 
Levasseur  took  their  seats  in  a  motor  car  with  Weber  and 
two  inspectors.  Another  car,  filled  with  detectives,  fol- 
lowed. 

The  hospital  was  literally  invested  by  the  police  force 
and  Weber  neglected  none  of  the  precautions  of  a  regular 
siege. 

The  Prefect  of  Police,  who  arrived  in  his  own  car,  was 
shown  by  the  manservant  into  the  waiting-room  and 
then  into  the  parlour,  where  the  mother  superior  came 
to  him  at  once.  Without  delay  or  preamble  of  any  sort 
he  put  his  questions  to  her,  in  the  presence  of  Don  Luis, 
Weber,  and  Florence: 

"Reverend  mother,"  he  said,  "I  have  a  letter  here  which 
was  brought  to  me  at  headquarters  and  which  tells 
me  of  the  existence  of  certain  documents  concerning 
a  legacy.  According  to  my  information,  this  letter,  which 


370  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

is  unsigned  and  which  is  in  a  disguised  hand,  was  written 
by  you.  Is  that  so?" 

The  mother  superior,  a  woman  with  a  powerful  face 
and  a  determined  air,  replied,  without  embarrassment: 

"That  is  so,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  As  I  had  the  honour 
to  tell  you  in  my  letter,  I  would  have  preferred,  for  obvious 
reasons,  that  my  name  should  not  be  mentioned.  Besides, 
the  delivery  of  the  documents  was  all  that  mattered. 
However,  since  you  know  that  I  am  the  writer,  I  am  pre- 
pared to  answer  your  questions." 

M.  Desmalions  continued,  with  a  glance  at  Florence: 

"I  will  first  ask  you,  Reverend  Mother,  if  you  know  this 
young  lady?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  Florence  was  with  us  for 
six  months  as  a  nurse,  a  few  years  ago.  She  gave  such 
satisfaction  that  I  was  glad  to  take  her  back  this  day 
fortnight.  As  I  had  read  her  story  in  the  papers,  I  simply 
asked  her  to  change  her  name.  We  had  a  new  staff 
at  the  hospital,  and  it  was  therefore  a  safe  refuge  for 
her." 

"But,  as  you  have  read  the  papers,  you  must  be  aware 
of  the  accusations  against  her?  " 

"Those  accusations  have  no  weight,  Monsieur  le  Prefet, 
with  any  one  who  knows  Florence.  She  has  one  of  the 
noblest  characters  and  one  of  the  strictest  consciences 
that  I  have  ever  met  with." 

The  Prefect  continued: 

"Let  us  speak  of  the  documents,  Reverend  Mother. 
Where  do  they  come  from?" 

"Yesterday,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  I  found  in  my  room  a 
communication  in  which  the  writer  proposed  to  send  me 
some  papers  that  interested  Florence  Levasseur " 


WEBER  TAKES  HIS  HEVENGE          371 

"How  did  any  one  know  that  she  was  here?"  asked  M. 
Desmalions,  interrupting  her. 

"I  can't  tell  you.  The  letter  simply  said  that  the 
papers  would  be  at  Versailles,  at  the  paste  restante,  in  my 
name,  on  a  certain  day  —  that  is  to  say,  this  morning.  I 
was  also  asked  not  to  mention  them  to  anybody  and  to 
hand  them  at  three  o'clock  this  afternoon  to  Florence 
Levasseur,  with  instructions  to  take  them  to  the  Prefect 
of  Police  at  once.  I  was  also  requested  to  have  a  letter 
conveyed  to  Sergeant  Mazeroux." 

"To  Sergeant  Mazeroux!     That's  odd." 

"That  letter  appeared  to  have  to  do  with  the  same 
business.  Now,  I  am  very  fond  of  Florence.  So  I  sent 
the  letter,  and  this  morning  went  to  Versailles  and  found 
the  papers  there,  as  stated.  When  I  got  back,  Florence 
was  out.  I  was  not  able  to  hand  them  to  her  until  her 
return,  at  about  four  o'clock." 

"Where  were  the  papers  posted?" 

"In  Paris.  The  postmark  on  the  envelope  was  that 
of  the  Avenue  Niel,  which  happens  to  be  the  nearest  office 
to  this." 

"And  did  not  the  fact  of  finding  that  letter  in  your 
room  strike  you  as  strange?" 

"Certainly,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  but  no  stranger  than 
all  the  other  incidents  in  the  matter." 

"Nevertheless,"  continued  M.  Desmalions,  who  was 
watching  Florence's  pale  face,  "nevertheless,  when  you 
saw  that  the  instructions  which  you  received  came  from 
this  house  and  that  they  concerned  a  person  living  in  this 
house,  did  you  not  entertain  the  idea  that  that  per- 
son   " 

"The  idea  that  Florence  had  entered  the  room,  un- 


372  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

known  to  me,  for  such  a  purpose?"  cried  the  superior. 
"Oh,  Monsieur  le  Prefet,  Florence  is  incapable  of  doing 
such  a  thing!" 

The  girl  was  silent,  but  her  drawn  features  betrayed 
the  feelings  of  alarm  that  upset  her. 

Don  Luis  went  up  to  her  and  said: 

"The  mystery  is  clearing,  Florence,  isn't  it?  And  you 
are  suffering  in  consequence.  Who  put  the  letter  in 
Mother  Superior's  room?  You  know,  don't  you?  And 
you  know  who  is  conducting  all  this  plot?" 

She  did  not  answer.  Then,  turning  to  the  deputy  chief, 
the  Prefect  said: 

"Weber,  please  go  and  search  the  room  which  Mile. 
Levasseur  occupied." 

And,  in  reply  to  the  nun's  protest : 

"It  is  indispensable,"  he  declared,  "that  we  should  know 
the  reasons  why  Mile.  Levasseur  preserves  such  an  obsti- 
nate silence."  • 

Florence  herself  led  the  way.  But,  as  Weber  was  leav- 
ing the  room,  Don  Luis  exclaimed: 

"Take  care,  Deputy  Chief!" 

"Take  care?     Why?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Don  Luis,  who  really  could  not 
have  said  why  Florence's  behaviour  was  making  him 
uneasy.  "I  don't  know.  Still,  I  warn  you " 

Weber  shrugged  his  shoulders  and,  accompanied  by  the 
superior,  moved  away.  In  the  hall  he  took  two  men 
with  him.  Florence  walked  ahead.  She  went  up  a  flight 
of  stairs  and  turned  down  a  long  corridor,  with  rooms  on 
either  side  of  it,  which,  after  turning  a  corner,  led  to  a 
short  and  very  narrow  passage  ending  in  a  door. 

This  was  her  room.     The  door  opened  not  inward,  into 


WEBER  TAKES  HIS  REVENGE  373 

the  room,  but  outward,  into  the  passage.  Florence  there- 
fore drew  it  to  her,  stepping  back  as  she  did  so,  which 
obliged  Weber  to  do  likewise.  She  took  advantage  of 
this  to  rush  in  and  close  the  door  behind  her  so  quickly 
that  the  deputy  chief,  when  he  tried  to  grasp  the  handle, 
merely  struck  the  air. 

He  made  an  angry  gesture: 

"The  baggage!     She  means  to  burn  some  papers!" 

And,  turning  to  the  superior: 

"Is  there  another  exit  to  the  room?" 

"No,  Monsieur." 

He  tried  to  open  the  door,  but  she  had  locked  and 
bolted  it.  Then  he  stood  aside  to  make  way  for  one  of 
his  men,  a  giant,  who,  with  one  blow  of  his  fist,  smashed 
a  panel. 

Weber  pushed  by  him,  put  his  arm  through  the  opening, 
drew  the  bolt,  turned  the  key,  pulled  open  the  door  and 
entered. 

Florence  was  no  longer  in  her  room.  A  little  open  win- 
dow opposite  showed  the  way  she  had  taken. 

"Oh,  curse  my  luck!"  he  shouted.     "She's  cut  off!" 

And,  hurrying  back  to  the  staircase,  he  roared  over  the 
balusters : 

"Watch  all  the  doors!     She's  got  away!     Collar  her!" 

M.  Desmalions  came  hurrying  up.  Meeting  the  deputy, 
he  received  his  explanations  and  then  went  on  to  Florence's 
room.  The  open  window  looked  out  on  a  small  inner 
yard,  a  sort  of  well  which  served  to  ventilate  a  part  of 
the  house.  Some  rain-pipes  ran  down  the  wall.  Florence 
must  have  let  herself  down  by  them.  But  what  coolness 
and  what  an  indomitable  will  she  must  have  displayed 
to  make  her  escape  in  this  manner! 


374  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

The  detectives  had  already  distributed  themselves  on 
every  side  to  bar  the  fugitive's  road.  It  soon  became 
manifest  that  Florence,  for  whom  they  were  hunting  on 
the  ground  floor  and  in  the  basement,  had  gone  from  the 
yard  into  the  room  underneath  her  own,  which  happened 
to  be  the  mother  superior's;  that  she  had  put  on  a  nun's 
habit;  and  that,  thus  disguised,  she  had  passed  unnoticed 
through  the  very  men  who  were  pursuing  her. 

They  rushed  outside.  But  it  was  now  dark;  and  every 
search  was  bound  to  be  vain  in  so  populous  a  quarter. 

The  Prefect  of  Police  made  no  effort  to  conceal  his  dis- 
pleasure. Don  Luis  was  also  greatly  disappointed  at  this 
flight,  which  thwarted  his  plans,  and  enlarged  openly  upon 
Weber's  lack  of  skill. 

"I  told  you  so,  Deputy  Chief!  You  should  have  taken 
your  precautions.  Mile.  Levasseur's  attitude  ought  to 
have  warned  you.  She  evidently  knows  the  criminal  and 
wanted  to  go  to  him,  ask  him  for  explanations  and,  for 
all  we  can  tell,  save  him,  if  he  managed  to  convince  her. 
And  what  will  happen  between  them?  When  the  villain 
sees  that  he  is  discovered,  he  will  be  capable  of  anything." 

M.  Desmalions  again  questioned  the  mother  superior 
and  soon  learned  that  Florence,  before  taking  refuge  in 
the  nursing-home,  had  spent  forty-eight  hours  in  some 
furnished  apartments  on  the  He  Saint-Louis. 

The  clue  was  not  worth  much,  but  they  could  not  neg- 
lect it.  The  Prefect  of  Police,  who  retained  all  his  doubts 
with  regard  to  Florence  and  attached  extreme  importance 
to  the  girl's  capture,  ordered  Weber  and  his  men  to  follow 
up  this  trail  without  delay.  Don  Luis  accompanied  the 
deputy  chief. 

Events  at  once  showed  that  the  Prefect  of  Police  was 


WEBER  TAKES  HIS  REVENGE          375 

right.  Florence  had  taken  refuge  in  the  lodging-house  on 
the  He  Saint-Louis,  where  she  had  engaged  a  room  under 
an  assumed  name.  But  she  had  no  sooner  arrived  than 
a  small  boy  called  at  the  house,  asked  for  her,  and  went 
away  with  her. 

They  went  up  to  her  room  and  found  a  parcel  done  up 
in  a  newspaper,  containing  a  nun's  habit.  The  thing  was 
obvious. 

Later,  in  the  course  of  the  evening,  Weber  succeeded 
in  discovering  the  small  boy.  He  was  the  son  of  the 
porter  of  one  of  the  houses  in  the  neighbourhood.  Where 
could  he  have  taken  Florence?  When  questioned,  he  defi- 
nitely refused  to  betray  the  lady  who  had  trusted  him 
and  who  had  cried  when  she  kissed  him.  His  mother 
entreated  him.  His  father  boxed  his  ears.  He  was  in- 
flexible. 

In  any  case,  it  was  not  unreasonable  to  conclude  that 
Florence  had  not  left  the  He  Saint-Louis  or  its  immediate 
vicinity.  The  detectives  persisted  in  their  search  all  the 
evening.  Weber  established  his  headquarters  in  a  tap 
room  where  every  scrap  of  information  was  brought  to 
him  and  where  his  men  returned  from  time  to  time  to 
receive  his  orders.  He  also  remained  in  constant  com- 
munication with  the  Prefect's  office. 

At  half-past  ten  a  squad  of  detectives,  sent  by  the 
Prefect,  placed  themselves  at  the  deputy  chief's  disposal. 
Mazeroux,  newly  arrived  from  Rouen  and  furious  with 
Florence,  joined  them. 

The  search  continued.  Don  Luis  had  gradually  as- 
sumed its  management;  and  it  was  he  who,  so  to  speak, 
inspired  Weber  to  ring  at  this  or  that  door  and  to  question 
this  or  that  person. 


376 

At  eleven  o'clock  the  hunt  still  remained  fruitless;  and 
t)on  Luis  was  the  victim  of  an  increasing  and  irritating 
restlessness.  But,  shortly  after  midnight,  a  shrill  whistle 
drew  all  the  men  to  the  eastern  extremity  of  the  island, 
at  the  end  of  the  Quai  d'Anjou. 

Two  detectives  stood  waiting  for  them,  surrounded  by 
a  small  crowd  of  onlookers.  They  had  just  learned  that, 
some  distance  farther  away,  on  the  Quai  Henri  IV,  which 
does  not  form  part  of  the  island,  a  motor  car  had  pulled 
up  outside  a  house,  that  there  was  the  noise  of  a  dispute, 
and  that  the  cab  had  subsequently  driven  off  in  the  direc- 
tion of  Vincennes. 

They  hastened  to  the  Quai  Henri  IV  and  at  once  found 
the  house.  There  was  a  door  on  the  ground  floor  opening 
straight  on  the  pavement.  The  taxi  had  stopped  for  a 
few  minutes  in  front  of  this  door.  Two  persons,  a  woman 
and  a  man  leading  her  along,  had  left  the  ground  floor 
flat.  When  the  door  of  the  taxi  was  shut,  a  man's  voice 
had  shouted  from  the  inside: 

"Drive  down  the  Boulevard  Saint-Germain  and  along 
the  quays.  Then  take  the  Versailles  Road." 

But  the  porter's  wife  was  able  to  furnish  more  precise 
particulars.  Puzzled  by  the  tenant  of  the*  ground  floor, 
whom  she  had  only  seen  once,  in  the  evening,  who  paid 
his  rent  by  checks  signed  in  the  name  of  Charles  and  who 
but  very  seldom  came  to  his  apartment,  she  had  taken 
advantage  of  the  fact  that  her  lodge  was  next  to  the  flat 
to  listen  to  the  sound  of  voices.  The  man  and  the  woman 
were  arguing.  At  one  moment  the  man  cried,  in  a  louder 
tone: 

"Come  with  me,  Florence.  I  insist  upon  it;  and  I  will 
give  you  every  proof  of  my  innocence  to-morrow  morning. 


377 

And,  if  you  nevertheless  refuse  to  become  my  wife,  I  shall 
leave  the  country.  All  my  preparations  are  made." 

A  little  later  he  began  to  laugh  and,  again  raising  his 
voice,  said: 

"Afraid  of  what,  Florence?  That  I  shall  kill  you  per- 
haps? No,  no,  have  no  fear  — 

The  portress  had  heard  nothing  more.  But  was  this 
not  enough  to  justify  every  alarm? 

Don  Luis  caught  hold  of  the  deputy  chief: 

"Come  along!  I  knew  it:  the  man  is  capable  of  any- 
thing. It's  the  tiger!  He  means  to  kill  her!" 

He  rushed  outside,  dragging  the  deputy  toward  the  two 
police  motors  waiting  five  hundred  yards  down.  Mean- 
while, Mazeroux  was  trying  to  protest: 

"It  would  be  better  to  search  the  house,  to  pick  up  some 
clues " 

"Oh,"  shouted  Don  Luis,  increasing  his  pace,  "the 
house  and  the  clues  will  keep !  .  .  .  But  he's  gaining 
ground,  the  ruffian  —  and  he  has  Florence  with  him  — 
and  he's  going  to  kill  her!  It's  a  trap!  .  .  .  I'm  sure 
of  it- 

He  was  shouting  in  the  dark,  dragging  the  two  men 
along  with  irresistible  force. 

They  neared  the  motors. 

"Get  ready!"  he  ordered  as  soon  as  he  was  in  sight. 
"I'll  drive  myself." 

He  tried  to  get  into  the  driver's  seat.  But  Weber  ob- 
jected and  pushed  him  inside,  saying: 

"Don't  trouble  —  the  chauffeur  knows  his  business. 
He'll  drive  faster  than  you  would." 

Don  Luis,  the  deputy  chief,  and  two  detectives  crowded 
into  the  cab ;  Mazeroux  took  his  seat  beside  the  chauffeur. 


378  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Versailles  Road!"  roared  Don  Luis. 

The  car  started;  and  he  continued: 

"We've  got  him!  You  see,  it's  a  magnificent  oppor- 
tunity. He  must  be  going  pretty  fast,  but  without  forcing 
the  pace,  because  he  doesn't  think  we're  after  him.  Oh, 
the  villain,  we'll  make  him  sit  up!  Quicker,  driver!  But 
what  the  devil  are  we  loaded  up  like  this  for?  You  and 
I,  Deputy  Chief,  would  have  been  enough.  Hi,  Mazeroux, 
get  down  and  jump  into  the  other  car!  That'll  be  better, 
won't  it,  Deputy?  It's  absurd " 

He  interrupted  himself;  and,  as  he  was  sitting  on  the 
back  seat,  between  the  deputy  chief  and  a  detective,  he 
rose  toward  the  window  and  muttered : 

"Why,  look  here,  what's  the  idiot  doing?  That's  not 
the  road!  I  say,  what  does  this  mean?" 

A  roar  of  laughter  was  the  only  answer.  It  came  from 
Weber,  who  was  shaking  with  delight.  Don  Luis  stifled 
an  oath  and,  making  a  tremendous  effort,  tried  to  leap 
from  the  car.  Six  hands  fell  upon  him  and  held  him 
motionless.  The  deputy  chief  had  him  by  the  throat. 
The  detectives  clutched  his  arms.  There  was  no  room 
for  him  to  struggle  within  the  restricted  space  of  the  small 
car;  and  he  felt  the  cold  iron  of  a  revolver  on  his  temple. 

"None  of  your  nonsense,"  growled  Weber,  "or  I'll 
blow  out  your  brains,  my  boy!  Aha!  you  didn't  expect 
this!  It's  Weber's  revenge,  eh?" 

And,  when  Perenna  continued  to  wriggle,  he  went  on, 
in  a  threatening  tone: 

"You'll  have  only  yourself  to  blame,  mind!  .  .  . 
I'm  going  to  count  three:  one,  two 

"But  what's  it  all  about?"  bellowed  Don  Luis. 

"Prefect's  orders,  received  just  now." 


WEBER  TAKES  HIS  REVENGE  379 

"What  orders?" 

"To  take  you  to  the  lockup  if  the  Florence  girl  escaped 
us  again." 

"Have  you  a  warrant?'* 

"I  have." 

"And  what  next?" 

"What  next?  Nothing:  the  Sante  —  the  examining 
magistrate " 

"But,  hang  it  all,  the  tiger's  making  tracks  meanwhile! 
Oh,  rot !  Is  it  possible  to  be  so  dense?  What  mugs  those 
fellows  are!  Oh,  dash  it!" 

He  was  fuming  with  rage,  and  when  he  saw  that  they 
were  driving  into  the  prison  yard,  he  gathered  all  his 
strength,  knocked  the  revolver  out  of  the  deputy's  hand, 
and  stunned  one  of  the  detectives  with  a  blow  of  his  fist. 

But  ten  men  came  crowding  round  the  doors.  Resis- 
tance was  useless.  He  understood  this,  and  his  rage  in- 
creased. 

"The  idiots!"  he  shouted,  while  they  surrounded  him 
and  searched  him  at  the  door  of  the  office.  "The  rotters ! 
The  bunglers!  To  go  mucking  up  a  job  like  that !  They 
can  lay  hands  on  the  villain  if  they  want  to,  and  they 
lock  up  the  honest  man  —  while  the  villain  makes  him- 
self scarce!  And  he'll  do  more  murder  yet!  Florence! 
Florence  .  .  ." 

Under  the  lamp  light,  in  the  midst  of  the  detectives 
holding  him,  he  was  magnificent  in  his  helpless  violence. 

They  dragged  him  away.  With  an  unparalleled  dis- 
play of  strength,  he  drew  himself  up,  shook  off  the  men 
who  were  hanging  on  to  him  like  a  pack  of  hounds  worry- 
ing some  animal  at  bay,  got  rid  of  Weber,  and  accosted 
Mazeroux  in  familiar  tones.  He  was  gloriously  masterful, 


380  /THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

almost  calm,  so  wholly  did  he  appear  to  control  hfs  seeth- 
ing rage.  He  gave  his  orders  in  breathless  little  sentences, 
curt  as  words  of  command. 

"Mazeroux,  run  around  to  the  Prefect's.  Ask  him  to 
ring  up  Valenglay:  yes,  the  Prime  Minister.  I  want  to 
see  him.  Have  him  informed.  Ask  the  Prefect  to  say 
it's  I:  the  man  who  made  the  German  Emperor  play  his 
game.  My  name?  He  knows.  Or,  if  he  forgets,  the  Pre- 
fect can  tell  him  my  name." 

He  paused  for  a  second  or  two;  and  then,  calmer  still, 
he  declared: 

"Arsene  Lupin!  Telephone  those  two  words  to  him 
and  just  say  this:  *  Arsene  Lupin  wishes  to  speak  to  the 
Prime  Minister  on  very  important  business.'  Get  that 
through  to  him  at  once.  The  Prime  Minister  would  be 
very  angry  if  he  heard  afterward  that  they  had  neglected 
to  communicate  my  request.  Go,  Mazeroux,  and  then 
find  the  villain's  tracks  again." 

The  governor  of  the  prison  had  opened  the  jail  book. 

"You  can  enter  my  name,  Monsieur  le  Directeur," 
said  Don  Luis.  "Put  down  ' Arsene  Lupin." 

The  governor  smiled  and  said: 

"I  should  find  a  difficulty  in  putting  down  any  other. 
It's  on  the  warrant:  *  Arsene  Lupin,  alias  Don  Luis  Pe- 


renna."' 


Don  Luis  felt  a  little  shudder  pass  through  him  at  the 
sound  of  those  words.  The  fact  that  he  was  arrested 
under  the  name  of  Arsene  Lupin  made  his  position  doubly 
dangerous. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  "so  they've  resolved " 

"I  should  think  so!"  said  Weber,  in  a  tone  of  triumph. 
"We've  resolved  to  take  the  bull  by  the  horns  and  to  go 


WEBER  TAKES  HIS  REVENGE          381 

straight  for  Lupin.  Plucky  of  us,  eh?  Never  fear,  we'll 
show  you  something  better  than  that!" 

Don  Luis  did  not  flinch.  Turning  to  Mazeroux  again, 
he  said: 

"Don't  forget  my  instructions,  Mazeroux." 

But  there  was  a  fresh  blow  in  store  for  him.  The  ser- 
geant did  not  answer  his  remark.  Don  Luis  watched 
him  closely  and  once  more  gave  a  start.  He  had  just 
perceived  that  Mazeroux  also  was  surrounded  by  men 
who  were  holding  him  tight.  And  the  poor  sergeant 
stood  silently  shedding  tears. 

Weber's  liveliness  increased. 

"You'll  have  to  excuse  him,  Lupin.  Sergeant  Maze- 
roux accompanies  you  to  prison,  though  not  in  the  same 
cell." 

"Ah!"  said  Don  Luis,  drawing  himself  up.  "Is  Maze- 
roux put  into  jail?" 

"Prefect's  orders,  warrant  duly  executed." 

"And  on  what  charge?" 

"Accomplice  of  Arsene  Lupin." 

"Mazeroux  my  accomplice?  Get  out!  Mazeroux? 
The  most  honest  man  that  ever  lived!" 

"The  most  honest  man  that  ever  lived,  as  you  say. 
That  didn't  prevent  people  from  going  to  him  when  they 
wanted  to  write  to  you  or  prevent  him  from  bringing  you 
the  letters.  Which  proves  that  he  knew  where  you  were 
hanging  out.  And  there's  a  good  deal  more  which  we'll 
explain  to  you,  Lupin,  in  good  time.  You'll  have  plenty 
of  fun,  I  assure  you." 

Don  Luis  murmured: 

"  My  poor  Mazeroux ! " 

Then,  raising  his  voice,  he  said: 


382  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Don't  cry,  old  chap.  It's  just  a  matter  of  the  re- 
mainder of  the  night.  Yes,  I'll  share  my  cards  with  you; 
and  we'll  turn  the  king  and  mark  game  in  a  very  few  hours. 
Don't  cry.  I've  got  a  much  finer  berth  waiting  for  you, 
a  more  honourable  and  above  all  a  more  lucrative  position. 
I  have  just  what  you  want. 

"You  don't  imagine,  surely,  that  I  wasn't  prepared  for 
this!  Why,  you  know  me!  Take  it  from  me:  I  shall  be 
at  liberty  to-morrow,  and  the  government,  after  setting 
you  free,  will  pitch  you  into  a  colonelcy  or  something,  with 
a  marshal's  pay  attached  to  it.  So  don't  cry,  Mazeroux," 

Then,  addressing  Weber,  he  said  to  him  in  the  voice  of 
a  principal  giving  an  order,  and  knowing  that  the  order 
will  be  executed  without  discussion: 

"Monsieur,  I  will  ask  you  to  fulfil  the  confidential 
mission  which  I  was  entrusting  to  Mazeroux.  First,  in- 
form the  Prefect  of  Police  that  I  have  a  communication 
of  the  very  highest  importance  to  make  to  the  Prime 
Minister.  Next,  discover  the  tiger's  tracks  at  Versailles 
before  the  night  is  over.  I  know  your  merit,  Monsieur, 
and  I  rely  entirely  upon  your  diligence  and  your  zeal. 
Meet  me  at  twelve  o'clock  to-morrow." 

And,  still  maintaining  his  attitude  of  a  principal  who 
has  given  his  instructions,  he  allowed  himself  to  be  taken 
to  his  cell. 

It  was  ten  to  one.  For  the  last  fifty  minutes  the  enemy 
had  been  bowling  along  the  highroad,  carrying  off  Florence 
like  a  prey  which  it  now  seemed  impossible  to  snatch  from 
him. 

The  door  was  locked  and  bolted. 

Don  Luis  reflected: 

"Even  presuming  that  Monsieur  le  Prefect  consents  to 


WEBER  TAKES  HIS  REVENGE  383 

ring  up  Valenglay,  he  won't  do  so  before  the  morning. 
So  they've  given  the  villain  eight  hours'  start  before  I'm 
free.  Eight  hours!  Curse  it!" 

He  thought  a  little  longer,  then  shrugged  his  shoulders 
with  the  air  of  one  who,  for  the  moment,  has  nothing 
better  to  do  than  wait,  and  flung  himself  on  his  mattress, 
murmuring: 

"Hushaby,  Lupin!" 


CHAPTER  SEVENTEEN 

OPEN  SESAME! 

IN  SPITE  of  his  usual  facility  for  sleep,  Don  Luis  slept 
for  three  hours  at  most.  He  was  racked  with  too 
much  anxiety;  and,  though  his  plan  of  conduct  was 
worked  out  mathematically,  he  could  not  help  foreseeing 
all  the  obstacles  which  were  likely  to  frustrate  that  plan. 
Of  course,  Weber  would  speak  to  M.  Desmalions.  But 
would  M.  Desmalions  telephone  to  Valenglay? 

"He  is  sure  to  telephone,"  Don  Luis  declared,  stamp* 
ing  his  foot.  "It  doesn't  let  him  in  for  anything.  And» 
at  the  same  time,  he  would  be  running  a  big  risk  if  he 
refused,  especially  as  Valenglay  must  have  been  consulted 
about  my  arrest  and  is  obviously  kept  informed  of  all 
that  happens." 

He  next  asked  himself  what  exactly  Valenglay  could 
do,  once  he  was  told.  For,  after  all,  was  it  not  too  much 
to  expect  that  the  head  of  the  government,  that  the  Prime 
Minister,  should  put  himself  out  to  obey  the  injunctions 
and  assist  the  schemes  of  M.  Arsene  Lupin? 

"He  will  come!"  he  cried,  with  the  same  persistent 
confidence.  "Valenglay  doesn't  care  a  hang  for  form  and 
ceremony  and  all  that  nonsense.  He  will  come,  even  if  it 
is  only  out  of  curiosity,  to  learn  what  the  Kaiser's  friend 
can  have  to  say  to  him.  Besides,  he  knows  me!  I  am 
not  one  of  those  beggars  who  inconvenience  people  for 


OPEN   SESAME  !  385 

nothing.  There's  always  something  to  be  gained  by 
meeting  me.  He'll  come!" 

But  another  question  at  once  presented  itself  to  his 
mind.  Valenglay's  coming  in  no  way  implied  his  consent 
to  the  bargain  which  Perenna  meant  to  propose  to  him. 
And  even  if  Don  Luis  succeeded  in  convincing  him,  what 
risks  remained !  How  many  doubtful  points  to  overcome ! 
And  then  the  possibilities  of  failure ! 

Would  Weber  pursue  the  fugitive's  motor  car  with  the 
necessary  decision  and  boldness?  Would  he  get  on  the 
track  again?  And,  having  got  on  the  track,  would  he 
be  certain  not  to  lose  it? 

And  then  —  and  then,  even  supposing  that  all  the 
chances  were  favourable,  was  it  not  too  late?  Taking 
for  granted  that  they  hunted  down  the  wild  beast,  that 
they  drove  him  to  bay,  would  he  not  meanwhile  have 
killed  his  prey?  Knowing  himself  beaten,  would  a  mon- 
ster of  that  kind  hesitate  to  add  one  more  murder  to  the 
long  list  of  his  crimes? 

And  this,  to  Don  Luis,  was  the  crowning  terror.  After 
all  the  difficulties  which,  in  his  stubbornly  confident 
imagination,  he  had  managed  to  surmount,  he  was  brought 
face  to  face  with  the  horrible  vision  of  Florence  being 
sacrificed,  of  Florence  dead! 

"  Oh,  the  torture  of  it ! "  he  stammered.  "  I  alone  could 
have  succeeded;  and  they  shut  me  up!" 

He  hardly  put  himself  out  to  inquire  into  the  reasons 
for  which  M.  Desmalions,  suddenly  changing  his  mind, 
had  consented  to  his  arrest,  thus  bringing  back  to  life 
that  troublesome  Arsene  Lupin  with  whom  the  police  had 
not  hitherto  cared  to  hamper  themselves.  No,  that  did 
not  interest  him.  Florence  alone  mattered.  And  the  min- 


386 

utes  passed;  and  each  minute  wasted  brought  Florence 
nearer  to  her  doom. 

He  remembered  a  similar  occasion  when,  some  years 
before,  he  waited  in  the  same  way  for  the  door  of  his  cell 
to  open  and  the  German  Emperor  to  appear.  But  how 
much  greater  was  the  solemnity  of  the  present  moment! 
Before,  it  was  at  the  very  most  his  liberty  that  was  rt 
stake.  This  time  it  was  Florence's  life  which  fate  was 
about  to  offer  or  refuse  him. 

"Florence!  Florence!"  he  kept  repeating,  in  his  de- 
spair. 

He  no  longer  had  a  doubt  of  her  innocence.  Nor  did 
he  doubt  that  the  other  loved  her  and  had  carried  her  off t 
not  so  much  for  the  hostage  of  a  coveted  fortune  as  for  a 
love  spoil,  which  a  man  destroys  if  he  cannot  keep  it. 

"Florence!     Florence!" 

He  was  suffering  from  an  extraordinary  fit  of  depression. 
His  defeat  seemed  irretrievable*  There  was  no  question 
of  hastening  after  Florence,  of  catching  the  murderer. 
Don  Luis  was  in  prison  under  his  own  name  of  Arsene 
Lupin;  and  the  whole  problem  lay  in  knowing  how  long 
he  would  remain  there,  for  months  or  for  years! 

It  was  then  that  he  fully  realized  what  his  love  for 
Florence  meant.  He  perceived  that  it  took  the  place  in 
his  life  of  his  former  passions,  his  craving  for  luxury,  his 
desire  for  mastery,  his  pleasure,  in  fighting,  his  ambition, 
his  revenge.  For  two  months  he  had  been  struggling 
to  win  her  and  for  nothing  else.  The  search  after  the 
truth  and  the  punishment  of  the  criminal  were  to  him 
no  more  than  means  of  saving  Florence  from  the  dangers 
that  threatened  her. 

If  Florence  had  to  die,  if  it  was  too  late  to  snatch  her 


OPEN  SESAME  !  387 

from  the  enemy,  in  that  case  he  might  as  well  remain  in 
prison.  Arsene  Lupin  spending  the  rest  of  his  days  in  a 
convict  settlement  was  a  fitting  end  to  the  spoilt  life  of  a 
man  who  had  not  even  been  able  to  win  the  love  of  the 
only  woman  he  had  really  loved. 

It  was  a  passing  mood  and,  being  totally  opposed  to 
Don  Luis's  nature,  finished  abruptly  in  a  state  of  utter 
confidence  which  no  longer  admitted  the  least  particle  of 
anxiety  or  doubt.  The  sun  had  risen.  The  cell  gradually 
became  filled  with  daylight.  And  Don  Luis  remembered 
that  Valenglay  reached  his  office  on  the  Place  Beauveau 
at  seven  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

From  this  moment  he  felt  absolutely  calm.  Coming 
events  presented  an  entirely  different  aspect  to  him,  as 
though  they  had,  so  to  speak,  turned  right  round.  The 
contest  seemed  to  him  easy,  the  facts  free  from  compli- 
cations,, He  understood  as  clearly  as  if  the  actions  had 
been  performed  that  his  will  could  not  but  be  obeyed. 
The  deputy  chief  must  inevitably  have  made  a  faithful, 
report  to  the  Prefect  of  Police.  The  Prefect  of  Police 
must  inevitably  that  morning  have  transmitted  Arsene 
Lupin's  request  to  Valenglay. 

Valenglay  would  inevitably  give  himself  the  pleasure 
of  an  interview  with  Arsene  Lupin.  Arsene  Lupin  would 
inevitably,  in  the  course  of  that  interview,  obtain  Valen- 
glay's  consent.  These  were  not  suppositions,  but  cer- 
tainties; not  problems  awaiting  solution,  but  problems 
already  solved.  Starting  from  A  and  continuing  along 
B  and  C,  you  arrive,  whether  you  wish  it  or  not,  at  D. 

Don  Luis  began  to  laugh: 

"Come,  come,  Arsene,  old  chap,  remember  that  you 
brought  Mr.  HohenzollenTall  the  way  from  his  Branden- 


388  THE  TEETH  OP  THE  TIGER 

burg  Marches.  Valenglay  does  not  live  as  far  as  that, 
by  Jove!  And,  if  necessary,  you  can  put  yourself  out  a 
little.  .  .  .  That's  it:  I'll  consent  to  take  the  first 
step.  I  will  go  and  call  on  M.  de  Beauveau.  M.  Valen- 
glay, it  is  a  pleasure  to  see  you." 

He  went  gayly  to  the  door,  pretending  that  it  was  open 
and  that  he  had  only  to  walk  through  to  be  received  when 
his  turn  came. 

He  repeated  this  child's  play  three  times,  bowing  low 
and  long,  as  though  holding  a  plumed  hat  in  his  hand, 
and  murmuring: 

"Open  sesame!" 

At  the  fourth  time,  the  door  opened,  and  a  warder  ap- 
peared. 

Don  Luis  said,  in  a  ceremonious  tone: 

"I  hope  I  have  not  kept  the  Prime  Minister  waiting?" 

There  were  four  inspectors  in  the  corridor. 

"Are  these  gentlemen  my  escort?"  he  asked.  "That's 
right.  Announce  Arsene  Lupin,  grandee  of  Spain,  his 
most  Catholic  Majesty's  cousin.  My  lords,  I  follow  you. 
Turnkey,  here  are  twenty  crowns  for  your  pains,  my 
friend." 

He  stopped  in  the  corridor. 

"By  Jupiter,  no  gloves;  and  I  haven't  shaved  since  yes- 
terday!" 

The  inspectors  had  surrounded  him  and  were  pushing 
him  a  little  roughly.  He  seized  two  of  them  by  the  arm. 
They  groaned. 

"That'll  teach  you,"  he  said.  "You've  no  orders  to 
thrash  me,  have  you?  Nor  even  to  handcuff  me?  That 
being  so,  young  fellows,  behave!" 

The  prison  governor  was  standing  in  the  hall. 


OPEN  SESAME  !  389 

'I've  had  a  capital  night,  my  dear  governor,"  said  Don 
"Your  C.  T.  C.  rooms  are  the  very  acme  of  com- 
fort. I'll  see  that  the  Lockup  Arms  receives  a  star  in  the 
' Baedeker.'  Would  you  like  me  to  write  you  a  testimonial 
in  your  jail  book?  You  wouldn't?  Perhaps  you  hope  to 
see  me  again?  Sorry,  my  dear  governor,  but  it's  impossi- 
ble. I  have  other  things  to  do." 

A  motor  car  was  waiting  in  the  yard.  Don  Luis  stepped 
in  with  the  four  detectives: 

"  Place  Beauveau,"  he  said  to  the  driver. 

"No,  Rue  Vineuse,"  said  one  of  the  detectives,  correct- 
ing him. 

"Oho!"  said  Don  Luis.  "His  Excellency's  private 
residence!  His  Excellency  prefers  that  my  visit  should 
be  kept  secret.  That's  a  good  sjgn.  By  the  way,  dear 
friends,  what's  the  time?" 

His  question  remained  unanswered.  And  as  the  de- 
tectives had  drawn  the  blinds,  he  was  unable  to  consult 
the  clocks  in  the  street. 

It  was  not  until  he  was  at  Valenglay's,  in  the  Prime 
Minister's  little  ground-floor  flat  near  the  Trocadero,  that 
he  saw  a  clock  on  the  mantelpiece : 

"A  quarter  to  seven!  "he  exclaimed.  "Good!  There's 
not  been  much  time  lost." 

Valenglay's  study  opened  on  a  flight  of  steps  that  ran 
down  to  a  garden  filled  with  aviaries.  The  room  itself 
was  crammed  with  books  and  pictures. 

A  bell  rang,  and  the  detectives  went  out,  following  the 
old  maidservant  who  had  shown  them  in.  Don  Luis  was 
left  alone. 

He  was  still  calm,  but  nevertheless  felt  a  certain  un- 


390  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

easiness,  a  longing  to  be  up  and  doing,  to  throw  himself 
into  the  fray;  and  his  eyes  kept  on  involuntarily  return- 
ing to  the  face  of  the  clock.  The  minute  hand  seemed 
endowed  with  extraordinary  speed. 

At  last  some  one  entered,  ushering  in  a  second  person. 
Don  Luis  recognized  Valenglay  and  the  Prefect  of  Police. 

"That's  it,"  he  thought.     " I've  got  him." 

He  saw  this  by  the  sort  of  vague  sympathy  perceptible 
on  the  old  Premier's  lean  and  bony  face.  There  was  not 
a  sign  of  arrogance,  nothing  to  raise  a  barrier  between 
the  Minister  and  the  suspicious  individual  whom  he  was 
receiving:  just  a  manifest,  playful  curiosity  and  sympathy. 
It  was  a  sympathy  which  Valenglay  had  never  concealed, 
and  of  which  he  even  boasted  when,  after  Arsene  Lupin's 
sham  death,  he  spoke  of  the  adventurer  and  the  strange 
relations  between  them. 

"You  have  not  changed,"  he  said,  after  looking  at  him 
for  some  time.  "  Complexion  a  little  darker,  a  trifle  grayer 
over  the  temples,  that's  all." 

And  putting  on  a  blunt  tone,  he  asked: 

"And  what  is  it  you  want?" 

"An  answer  first  of  all,  Monsieur  le  President  du  Con- 
seil.  Has  Deputy  Chief  Weber,  who  took  me  to  the  lock- 
up last  night,  traced  the  motor  cab  hi  which  Florence  Le- 
vasseur  was  carried  off?" 

"Yes,  the  motor  stopped  at  Versailles.  The  persons 
inside  it  hired  another  cab  which  is  to  take  them  to  Nantes. 
What  else  do  you  ask  for,  besides  that  answer?" 

"My  liberty,  Monsieur  le  President." 

"At  once,  of  course?"  said  Valenglay,  beginning  to 
laugh. 

"In  thirty  or  thirty-five  minutes  at  most." 


OPEN  SESAME  !  391 

"At  half -past  seven,  eh?" 

"Half -past  seven  at  latest,  Monsieur  le  President." 

"And  why  your  liberty?" 

"To  catch  the  murderer  of  Cosmo  Mornington,  of 
Inspector  Verot,  and  of  the  Roussel  family." 

"Are  you  the  only  one  that  can  catch  him?" 

"Yes." 

"Still,  the  police  are  moving.  The  wires  are  at  work. 
The  murderer  will  not  leave  France.  He  shan't  escape 
us." 

"You  can't  find  him." 

"Yes,  we  can." 

"In  that  case  he  will  kill  Florence  Levasseur.  She  will 
be  the  scoundrel's  seventh  victim.  And  it  will  be  your 
doing." 

Valenglay  paused  for  a  moment  and  then  resumed: 

"According  to  you,  contrary  to  all  appearances,  and 
contrary  to  the  well-grounded  suspicions  of  Monsieur  le 
Prefet  de  Police,  Florence  Levasseur  is  innocent?" 

"Oh,  absolutely,  Monsieur  le  President!" 

"And  you  believe  her  to  be  in  danger  of  death?" 

"She  is  in  danger  of  death." 

"Are  you  in  love  with  her?" 

"lam." 

Valenglay  experienced  a  little  thrill  of  enjoyment.  Lu^ 
pin  in  love!  Lupin  acting  through  love  and  confessing 
his  love!  But  how  exciting! 

He  said: 

"I  have  followed  the  Mornington  case  from  day  to  day 
and  I  know  every  detail  of  it.  You  have  done  wonders, 
Monsieur.  It  is  evident  that,  but  for  you,  the  case  would 
never  have  emerged  from  the  mystery  that  surrounded  it 


392  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

at  the  start.  But  I  cannot  help  noticing  that  there  are 
certain  flaws  in  it. 

"These  flaws,  which  astonished  me  on  your  part,  are 
more  easy  to  understand  when  we  know  that  love  was 
the  primary  motive  and  the  object  of  your  actions.  On 
the  other  hand,  and  in  spite  of  what  you  say,  Florence 
Levasseur's  conduct,  her  claims  as  the  heiress,  her  un- 
expected escape  from  the  hospital,  leave  little  doubt  in  our 
minds  as  to  the  part  which  she  is  playing." 

Don  Luis  pointed  to  the  clock: 

"Monsieur  le  Ministre,  it  is  getting  late." 

Valenglay  burst  out  laughing. 

"I  never  met  any  one  like  you!  Don  Luis  Perenna,  I 
am  sorry  that  I  am  not  some  absolute  monarch.  I  should 
make  you  the  head  of  my  secret  police." 

"A  post  which  the  German  Emperor  has  already  offered 
me." 

"Oh,  nonsense!" 

"And  I  refused  it." 

Valenglay  laughed  heartily;  but  the  clock  struck  seven. 
Don  Luis  began  to  grow  anxious.  Valenglay  sat  down 
and,  coming  straight  to  the  point,  said,  in  a  serious  voice: 

"Don  Luis  Perenna,  on  the  first  day  of  your  reappear- 
ance —  that  is  to  say,  at  the  very  moment  of  the  murders 
on  the  Boulevard  Suchet  —  Monsieur  le  Prefet  de  Police 
and  I  made  up  our  minds  as  to  your  identity.  Perenna 
was  Lupin. 

"I  have  no  doubt  that  you  understood  the  reason  why 
we  did  not  wish  to  bring  back  to  life  the  dead  man  that 
you  were,  and  why  we  granted  you  a  sort  of  protection. 
Monsieur  le  Prefet  de  Police  was  entirely  of  my  opinion. 
The  work  which  you  were  pursuing  was  a  salutary  work 


OPEN  SESAME  !  393 

of  justice;  and  your  assistance  was  so  valuable  to  us  that 
we  strove  to  spare  you  any  sort  of  annoyance.  As  Don 
Luis  Perenna  was  fighting  the  good  fight,  we  left  Arsene 
Lupin  iii  the  background.  Unfortunately " 

Valenglay  paused  again  and  declared: 

"Unfortunately,  Monsieur  le  Prefet  de  Police  last  night 
received  a  denunciation,  supported  by  detailed  proofs, 
accusing  you  of  being  Arsene  Lupin." 

"Impossible!"  cried  Don  Luis.  "That  is  a  statement 
which  no  one  is  able  to  prove  by  material  evidence. 
Arsene  Lupin  is  dead." 

"If  you  like,"  Valenglay  agreed.  "But  that  does  not 
show  that  Don  Luis  Perenna  is  alive." 

"Don  Luis  Perenna  has  a  duly  legalized  existence,  Mon- 
sieur le  President." 

"Perhaps.     But  it  is  disputed." 

"By  whom?  There  is  only  one  man  who  would  have 
the  right;  and  to  accuse  me  would  be  his  own  undoing. 
I  cannot  believe  him  to  be  stupid  enough " 

"Stupid  enough,  no;  but  crafty  enough,  yes." 

"You  mean  Caceres,  the  Peruvian  attache?" 

"Yes." 

"But  he  is  abroad!" 

"More  than  that:  he  is  a  fugitive  from  justice,  after 
embezzling  the  funds  of  his  legation.  But  before  leaving 
the  country  he  signed  a  statement  that  reached  us  yester- 
day evening,  declaring  that  he  faked  up  a  complete  record 
for  you  under  the  name  of  Don  Luis  Perenna.  Here  is 
your  correspondence  with  him  and  here  are  all  the  papers 
establishing  the  truth  of  his  allegations.  Any  one  will  be 
convinced,  on  examining  them,  first,  that  you  are  not  Don 
Luis  Perenna,  and,  secondly,  that  you  are  Arsene  Lupin." 


394  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

Don  Luis  made  an  angry  gesture. 

"That  blackguard  of  a  Caceres  is  a  mere  tool,"  he 
snarled.  "The  other  man's  behind  him,  has  paid  him,  and 
is  controlling  his  actions.  It's  the  scoundrel  himself;  I 
recognize  his  touch.  He  has  once  more  tried  to  get  rid  of 
me  at  the  decisive  moment." 

"I  am  quite  willing  to  believe  it,"  said  the  Prime  Minis- 
ter. "But  as  all  these  documents,  according  to  the  letter 
that  came  with  them,  are  only  photographs,  and  as,  if 
you  are  not  arrested  this  morning,  the  originals  are  to  be 
handed  to  a  leading  Paris  newspaper  to-night,  we  are 
obliged  to  take  note  of  the  accusation." 

"But,  Monsieur  le  President,"  exclaimed  Don  Luis, 
"as  Caceres  is  abroad  and  as  the  scoundrel  who  bought 
the  papers  of  him  was  also  obliged  to  take  to  flight  before 
he  was  able  to  execute  his  threats,  there  is  no  fear  now 
that  the  documents  will  be  handed  to  the  press." 

"How  do  we  know?  The  enemy  must  have  taken  his 
precautions.  He  may  have  accomplices." 

"He  has  none." 

"How  do  we  know?" 

Don  Luis  looked  at  Valenglay  and  said: 

"What  is  it  that  you  really  wish  to  say,  Monsieur  le 
President?" 

"I  will  tell  you.  Although  pressure  was  brought  to 
bear  upon  us  by  Caceres's  threats,  Monsieur  le  Prefet  de 
Police,  anxious  to  see  all  possible  light  shed  on  the  plot 
played  by  Florence  Levasseur,  did  not  interfere  with  your 
last  night's  expedition.  As  that  expedition  led  to  nothing, 
he  determined,  at  any  rate,  to  profit  by  the  fact  that  Don 
Luis  had  placed  himself  at  our  disposal  and  to  arrest 
Arsene  Lupin. 


OPEN  SESAME  !  395 

"If  we  now  let  him  go  the  documents  will  certainly  be 
published;  and  you  can  see  the  absurd  and  ridiculous 
position  in  which  that  will  place  us  in  the  eyes  of  the 
public.*  Well,  at  this  very  moment,  you  ask  for  the  re- 
lease of  Arsene  Lupin,  a  release  which  would  be  illegal, 
uncalled  for,  and  inexcusable.  I  am  obliged,  therefore,  to 
refuse  it,  and  I  do  refuse  it." 

He  ceased;  and  then,  after  a  few  seconds,  he  added: 

"Unless " 

"Unless?"  asked  Don  Luis. 

"Unless  —  and  this  is  what  I  wanted  to  say  —  unless 
you  offer  me  in  exchange  something  so  extraordinary  and 
so  tremendous  that  I  could  consent  to  risk  the  annoyance 
which  the  absurd  release  of  Arsene  Lupin  would  bring 
down  upon  my  head." 

"But,  Monsieur  le  President,  surely,  if  I  bring  you  the 
real  criminal,  the  murderer  of ' 

"I  don't  need  your  assistance  for  that." 

"And  if  I  give  you  my  word  of  honour,  Monsieur  le 
President,  to  return  the  moment  my  task  is  done  and  give 
myself  up?" 

Valenglay  struck  the  table  with  his  fist  and,  raising  his 
voice,  addressed  Don  Luis  with  a  certain  genial  famili- 
arity : 

"Come,  Arsene  Lupin,"  he  said,  "play  the  game!  If 
you  really  want  to  have  your  way,  pay  for  it !  Hang  it  all, 
remember  that  after  all  this  business,  and  especially  after 
the  incidents  of  last  night,  you  and  Florence  Levasseur 
will  be  to  the  public  what  you  already  are :  the  responsible 
actors  in  the  tragedy;  nay,  more,  the  real  and  only  crimi- 
nals. And  it  is  now,  when  Florence  Levasseur  has  taken  to 
her  heels,  that  you  come  and  ask  me  for  your  liberty !  Very 


396  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

well,  but  damn  it,  set  a  price  to  it  and  don't  haggle  with 
me!"/ 

"I  am  not  haggling,  Monsieur  le  President,"  declared 
Don  Luis,  in  a  very  straightforward  manner  and  tone. 
"  What  I  have  to  offer  you  is  certainly  much  more  extraor- 
dinary and  tremendous  than  you  imagine.  But  if  it 
were  twice  as  extraordinary  and  twice  as  tremendous,  it 
would  not  count  once  Florence  Levasseur's  We  is  in  dan- 
ger. Nevertheless,  I  was  entitled  to  try  for  a  less  expen- 
sive transaction.  Of  this  your  words  remove  all  hope.  I 
will  therefore  lay  my  cards  upon  the  table,  as  you  demand, 
and  as  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  do." 

He  sat  down  opposite  Valenglay,  in  the  attitude  of  a 
man  treating  with  another  on  equal  terms. 

"I  shall  not  be  long.  A  single  sentence,  Monsieur  le 
President,  will  express  the  bargain  which  I  am  proposing 
to  the  Prime  Minister  of  my  country." 

And,  looking  Valenglay  straight  in  the  eyes,  he  said 
slowly,  syllable  by  syllable: 

"In  exchange  for  twenty -four  hours'  liberty  and  no 
more,  undertaking  on  my  honour  to  return  here  to-morrow 
morning  and  to  return  here  either  with  Florence,  to  give 
you  every  proof  of  her  innocence,  or  without  her,  to  con- 
stitute myself  a  prisoner,  I  offer  you 

He  took  his  time  and,  in  a  serious  voice,  concluded: 

"I  offer  you  a  kingdom,  Monsieur  le  President  du 
Conseil." 

The  sentence  sounded  bombastic  and  ludicrous,  sounded 
silly  enough  to  provoke  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  sounded 
like  one  of  those  sentences  which  only  an  imbecile  or  a 
lunatic  could  utter.  And  yet  Valenglay  remaiDed  im- 
passive. He  knew  that,  in  such  circumstances  as  the  pres- 


OPEN  SESAME  !  397 

ent,  the  man  before  him  was  not  the  man  to  indulge  in  jest- 
ing. 

And  he  knew  it  so  fully  that,  instinctively,  accustomed 
as  he  was  to  momentous  political  questions  in  which  secrecy 
is  of  the  utmost  importance,  he  cast  a  glance  toward  the 
Prefect  of  Police,  as  though  M.  Desmalions's  presence  in 
the  room  hindered  him. 

"I  positively  insist,"  said  Don  Luis,  "that  Monsieur 
le  Prefet  de  Police  shall  stay  and  hear  what  I  have  to 
say.  He  is  better  able  than  any  one  else  to  appreciate 
the  value  of  it;  and  he  will  bear  witness  to  its  correctness 
in  certain  particulars." 

"Speak! "  said  Valenglay. 

His  curiosity  knew  no  bounds.  He  did  not  much  care 
whether  Don  Luis's  proposal  could  have  any  practical 
results.  In  his  heart  he  did  not  believe  in  it.  But  what 
he  wanted  to  know  was  the  lengths  to  which  that  demon 
of  audacity  was  prepared  to  go,  and  on  what  new  prodi- 
gious adventure  he  based  the  pretensions  which  he  was 
putting  forward  so  calmly  and  frankly. 

Don  Luis  smiled: 

"Will  you  allow  me?"  he  asked. 

Rising  and  going  to  the  mantelpiece,  he  took  down 
from  the  wall  a  small  map  representing  Northwest  Africa. 
He  spread  it  on  the  table,  placed  different  objects  on  the 
four  corners  to  hold  it  in  position,  and  resumed: 

"There  is  one  matter,  Monsieur  le  President,  which 
puzzled  Monsieur  le  Prefet  de  Police  and  about  which 
I  know  that  he  caused  inquiries  to  be  made;  and  that 
matter  is  how  I  employed  my  time,  or,  rather,  how  Arsene 
Lupin  employed  his  time  during  the  last  three  years  of 
his  service  with  the  Foreign  Legion." 


398  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Those  inquiries  were  made  by  my  orders,"  said  Val- 
englay. 

"And  they  led ?" 

"To  nothing." 

"  So  that  you  do  not  know  what  I  did  during  my  cap- 
tivity?" 

"Just  so." 

"I  will  tell  you,  Monsieur  le  President.  It  will  not 
take  me  long." 

Don  Luis  pointed  with  a  pencil  to  a  spot  in  Morocco 
marked  on  the  map. 

"It  was  here  that  I  was  taken  prisoner  on  the  twenty- 
fourth  of  July.  My  capture  seemed  queer  to  Monsieur 
le  Prefet  de  Police  and  to  all  who  subsequently  heard  the 
details  of  the  incident.  They  were  astonished  that  I 
should  have  been  foolish  enough  to  get  caught  in  ambush 
and  to  allow  myself  to  be  trapped  by  a  troop  of  forty 
Berber  horse.  Their  surprise  is  justified.  My  capture 
was  a  deliberate  move  on  my  part. 

"You  will  perhaps  remember,  Monsieur  le  President, 
that  I  enlisted  in  the  Foreign  Legion  after  making  a  fruit- 
less attempt  to  kill  myself  in  consequence  of  some  really 
terrible  private  disasters.  I  wanted  to  die,  and  I  thought 
that  a  Moorish  bullet  would  give  me  the  final  rest  for 
which  I  longed. 

"Fortune  did  not  permit  it.  My  destiny,  it  seemed, 
was  not  yet  fulfilled.  Then  what  had  to  be  was.  Little 
by  little,  unknown  to  myself,  the  thought  of  death  van- 
ished and  I  recovered  my  love  of  life.  A  few  rather  strik- 
ing feats  of  arms  had  given  me  back  all  my  self-confidence 
and  all  my  desire  for  action. 

"  New  dreams  seized  hold  of  me.    I  fell  a  victim  to  a  new 


OPEN  SESAME  !  399 

ideal.  From  day  to  day  I  needed  more  space,  greater  inde- 
pendence, wider  horizons,  more  unforeseen  and  personal 
sensations.  The  Legion,  great  as  my  affection  was  for  the 
plucky  fellows  who  had  welcomed  me  so  cordially,  was 
no  longer  enough  to  satisfy  my  craving  for  activity. 

"One  day,  without  thinking  much  about  it,  in  a  blind 
prompting  of  my  whole  being  toward  a  great  adventure 
which  I  did  not  clearly  see,  but  which  attracted  me  in  a 
mysterious  fashion,  one  day,  finding  myself  surrounded 
by  a  band  of  the  enemy,  though  still  in  a  position  to  fight, 
I  allowed  myself  to  be  captured. 

"That  is  the  whole  story,  Monsieur  le  President.  As 
a  prisoner,  I  was  free.  A  new  life  opened  before  me. 
However,  the  incident  nearly  turned  out  badly.  My 
three  dozen  Berbers,  a  troop  detached  from  an  important 
nomad  tribe  that  used  to  pillage  and  put  to  ransom  the 
districts  lying  on  the  middle  chains  of  the  Atlas  Range, 
first  galloped  back  to  the  little  cluster  of  tents  where  the 
wives  of  their  chiefs  were  encamped  under  the  guard  of 
some  ten  men.  They  packed  off  at  once;  and,  after  a 
week's  march  which  I  found  pretty  arduous,  for  I  was 
on  foot,  with  my  hands  tied  behind  my  back,  follow- 
ing a  mounted  party,  they  stopped  on  a  narrow  upland 
commanded  by  rocky  slopes  and  covered  with  skeletons 
mouldering  among  the  stones  and  with  remains  of  French 
swords  and  other  weapons. 

"Here  they  planted  a  stake  in  the  ground  and  fastened 
me  to  it.  I  gathered  from  the  behaviour  of  my  captors 
and  from  a  few  words  which  I  overheard  that  my  death 
was  decided  on.  They  meant  to  cut  off  mv  ears,  nose, 
and  tongue,  and  then  my  head. 

"  However,  they  began  by  preparing  their  repast.    They 


400  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

went  to  a  well  close  by,  ate  and  drank  and  took  no  fur- 
ther notice  of  me  except  to  laugh  at  me  and  describe  the 
various  treats  they  held  in  store  for  me.  .  .  .  Another 
night  passed.  The  torture  was  postponed  until  the  morn- 
ing, a  time  that  suited  them  better.  At  break  of  day  they 
crowded  round  me,  uttering  yells  and  shouts  with  which 
were  mingled  the  shrill  cries  of  the  women. 

"When  my  shadow  covered  a  line  which  they  had 
marked  on  the  sand  the  night  before,  they  ceased  their 
din,  and  one  of  them,  who  was  to  perform  the  surgical 
operations  prescribed  for  me,  stepped  forward  and  ordered 
me  to  put  out  my  tongue.  I  did  so.  He  took  hold  of  it 
with  a  corner  of  his  burnous  and,  with  his  other  hand, 
drew  his  dagger  from  its  sheath. 

"I  shall  never  forget  the  ferocity,  coupled  with  in- 
genuous delight,  of  his  expression,  which  was  like  that 
of  a  mischievous  boy  amusing  himself  by  breaking  a  bird's 
wings  and  legs.  Nor  shall  I  ever  forget  the  man's  stupe- 
faction when  he  saw  that  his  dagger  no  longer  consisted 
of  anything  but  the  pommel  and  a  harmless  and  ridicu- 
lously small  stump  of  the  blade,  just  long  enough  to 
keep  it  in  its  sheath.  His  fury  was  revealed  by  a  splutter 
of  curses  and  he  at  once  rushed  at  one  of  his  friends  and 
snatched  his  dagger  from  him. 

"The  same  stupefaction  followed:  this  dagger  was  also 
broken  off  at  the  hilt.  The  next  thing  was  a  general 
tumult,  in  which  one  and  all  brandished  their  knives. 
But  all  of  them  uttered  howls  of  rage. 

"There  were  forty-five  men  there;  and  their  forty-five 
knives  were  smashed.  .  .  .  The  chief  flew  at  me  as 
if  holding  me  responsible  for  this  incomprehensible  phe- 
nomenon. He  was  a  tall,  lean  old  man,  slightly  hunch- 


OPEN  SESAME  !  401 

\ 

backed,  blind  of  one  eye,  hideous  to  look  upon.  He  aimed 
a  huge  pistol  point  blank  at  my  head  and  he  struck  me 
as  so  ugly  that  I  burst  out  laughing  in  his  face.  He  pulled 
the  trigger.  The  pistol  missed  fire.  He  pulled  it  again. 
The  pistol  again  missed  fire.  .  .  . 

"All  of  them  at  once  began  to  dance  around  the  stake 
to  which  I  was  fastened.  Gesticulating  wildly,  hustling 
one  another  and  roaring  like  thunder,  they  levelled  their 
various  firearms  at  me:  muskets,  pistols,  carbines,  old 
Spanish  blunderbusses.  The  hammers  clicked.  But  the 
muskets,  pistols,  carbines,  and  blunderbusses  did  not  go 
off! 

"It  was  a  regular  miracle.  You  should  have  seen  their 
faces.  I  never  laughed  so  much  in  my  life;  and  this  com- 
pleted their  bewilderment. 

"Some  ran  to  the  tents  for  more  powder.  Others  hur- 
riedly r  loaded  their  arms,  only  to  meet  with  fresh  failure, 
while  I  did  nothing  but  laugh  and  laugh!  The  thing 
could  not  go  on  indefinitely.  There  were  plenty  of  other 
means  of  doing  away  with  me.  They  had  their  hands  to 
strangle  me  with,  the  butt  ends  of  their  muskets  to  smash 
my  head  with,  pebbles  to  stone  me  with.  And  there  were 
over  forty  of  them! 

The  old  chief  picked  up  a  bulky  stone  and  stepped 
toward  me,  his  features  distorted  with  hatred.  He  raised 
himself  to  his  full  height,  lifted  the  huge  block,  with  the 
assistance  of  two  of  his  men,  above  my  head  and  dropped 
it  —  in  front  of  me,  on  the  stake !  It  was  a  staggering 
sight  for  the  poor  old  man.  I  had,  in  one  second,  un- 
fastened my  bonds  and  sprung  backward;  and  I  was  stand- 
ing at  three  paces  from  him,  with  my  hands  outstretched 
before  me,  and  holding  in  those  outstretched  hands  the 


102  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

two  revolvers  which  had  been  taken  from  me  on  the  day 
of  my  capture! 

"  What  followed  was  the  business  of  a  few  seconds.  The 
jhief  now  began  to  laugh  as  I  had  laughed,  sarcastically. 
To  his  mind,  in  the  disorder  of  his  brain,  those  two  revol- 
vers with  which  I  threatened  him  could  have  no  more 
effect  than  the  useless  weapons  which  had  spared  my 
life.  He  took  up  a  large  pebble  and  raised  his  hand  to 
hurl  it  at  my  face.  His  two  assistants  did  the  same. 
And  all  the  others  were  prepared  to  follow  his  example. 

"' Hands  down!'  I  cried,  'or  I  fire!'  The  chief  let  fly 
his  stone.  At  the  same  moment  three  shots  rang  out. 
The  chief  and  his  two  men  fell  dead  to  the  ground.  *  Who's 
next?'  I  asked,  looking  round  the  band. 

"  Forty-two  Moors  remained.  I  had  eleven  bullets  left. 
As  none  of  the  men  budged,  I  slipped  one  of  my  revolvers 
under  my  arm  and  took  from  my  pocket  two  small  boxes 
of  cartridges  containing  fifty  more  bullets.  And  from 
my  belt  I  drew  three  great  knives,  all  of  them  nicely  taper- 
ing and  pointed.  Half  of  the  troop  made  signs  of  sub- 
mission and  drew  up  in  line  behind  me.  The  other  half 
capitulated  a  moment  after.  The  battle  was  over.  It 
aad  not  lasted  four  minutes.'* 


CHAPTER  EIGHTEEN 


DON  LIUS  ceased.  A  smile  of  amusement  played 
round  his  lips.  The  recollection  of  those  four 
minutes  seemed  to  divert  him  immensely. 

Valenglay  and  the  Prefect  of  Police,  who  were  neither 
of  them  men  to  be  unduly  surprised  at  courage  and  cool- 
ness, had  listened  to  him,  nevertheless,  and  were  now  look- 
ing at  him  in  bewildered  silence.  Was  it  possible  for  a 
human  being  to  carry  heroism  to  such  unlikely  lengths? 

Meanwhile,  he  went  up  to  the  other  side  of  the  chimney 
and  pointed  to  a  larger  map,  representing  the  French 
roads. 

"You  told  me,  Monsieur  le  President,  that  the  scoun- 
drel's motor  car  had  left  Versailles  and  was  going  toward 
Nantes?" 

"Yes;  and  all  our  arrangements  are  made  to  arrest 
him  either  on  the  way,  or  else  at  Nantes  or  at  Saint- 
Nazaire,  where  he  may  intend  to  take  ship." 

Don  Luis  Perenna  followed  with  his  forefinger  the  road 
across  France,  stopping  here  and  there,  marking  successive 
stages.  And  nothing  could  have  been  more  impressive 
than  this  dumb  show. 

The  man  that  he  was,  preserving  his  composure  amid 
the  overthrow  of  all  that  he  had  most  at  heart,  seemed 
by  his  calmness  to  dominate  time  and  circumstances.  It 

403 


404  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

was  as  though  the  murderer  were  running  away  at  one 
end  of  an  unbreakable  thread  of  which  Don  Luis  held  the 
other,  and  as  though  Don  Luis  could  stop  his  flight  at 
any  time  by  a  mere  movement  of  his  finger  and  thumb. 

As  he  studied  the  map,  the  master  seemed  to  command 
not  only  a  sheet  of  cardboard,  but  also  the  highroad  on 
which  a  motor  car  was  spinning  along,  subject  to  his  des- 
potic will. 

He  went  back  to  the  table  and  continued: 

"The  battle  was  over.  And  there  was  no  question  of 
its  being  resumed.  My  forty-two  worthies  found  them- 
selves face  to  face  with  a  conqueror,  against  whom  revenge 
is  always  possible,  by  fair  means  or  foul,  but  with  one  who 
had  subjugated  them  in  a  supernatural  manner.  There 
was  no  other  explanation  of  the  inexplicable  facts  which 
they  had  witnessed.  I  was  a  sorcerer,  a  kind  of  marabout, 
a  direct  emissary  of  the  Prophet." 

Valenglay  laughed  and  said: 

"Their  interpretation  was  not  so  very  unreasonable, 
for,  after  all,  you  must  have  performed  a  sleight-of-hand 
trick  which  strikes  me  also  as  being  little  less  than  miracu- 
lous." 

"Monsieur  le  President,  do  you  know  a  curious  short 
story  of  Balzac's  called  'A  Passion  in  the  Desert?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  the  key  to  the  riddle  lies  in  that." 

"Does  it?  I  don't  quite  see.  You  were  not  under  the 
claws  of  a  tigress.  There  was  no  tigress  to  tame  in  this 
instance." 

"No,  but  there  were  women." 

"Eh?     How  do  you  mean?" 

"Upon  my  word,  Monsieur  le  President,"  said  Don 


ARSENE  I  OF  MAURETANIA  405 

Luis  gayly,  "  I  should  not  like  to  shock  you.  But  I  repeat 
that  the  troop  which  carried  me  off  on  that  week's  march 
included  women;  and  women  are  a  little  like  Balzac's  ti- 
gress, creatures  whom  it  is  not  impossible  to  tame,  to 
charm,  to  break  in,  until  you  make  friends  of  them." 

"Yes,  yes,"  muttered  the  Premier,  madly  puzzled,  "but 
that  needs  time." 

"I  had  a  week." 

"And  complete  liberty  of  action." 

"No,  no,  Monsieur  le  President.  The  eyes  are  enough 
to  start  with.  The  eyes  give  rise  to  sympathy,  interest, 
affection,  curiosity,  a  wish  to  know  you  better.  After 
that,  the  merest  opportunity " 

"And  did  an  opportunity  offer?" 

"Yes,  one  night.  I  was  fastened  up,  or  at  least  they 
thought  I  was.  I  knew  that  the  chief's  favourite  was 
alone  in  her  tent  close  by.  I  went  there.  I  left  her  an 
hour  afterward." 

"And  the  tigress  was  tamed?" 

"Yes,  as  thoroughly  as  Balzac's:  tamed  and  blindly 
submissive." 

"But  there  were  several  of  them?" 

"I  know,  Monsieur  le  President,  and  that  was  the 
difficulty.  I  was  afraid  of  rivalry.  But  all  went  well: 
the  favourite  was  not  jealous,  far  from  it.  And  then,  as 
I  have  told  you,  her  submission  was  absolute.  In  short, 
I  had  five  staunch,  invisible  friends,  resolved  to  do  any- 
thing I  wanted  and  suspected  by  nobody. 

"My  plan  was  being  carried  cut  before  we  reached  the 
last  halting-place.  My  five  secret  agents  collected  all 
the  arms  during  the  night.  They  dashed  the  daggers  to 
the  ground  and  broke  them.  They  removed  the  bullets 


406  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

from  the  pistols.  They  damped  the  powder.  Every- 
thing was  ready  for  ringing  up  the  curtain." 

Valenglay  bowed. 

"My  compliments!  You  are  a  man  of  resource.  And 
your  scheme  was  not  lacking  in  charm.  For  I  take  it  that 
your  five  ladies  were  pretty?" 

Don  Luis  put  on  a  bantering  expression.  He  closed 
his  eyes,  as  if  to  recall  his  bliss,  and  let  fall  the  one 
word: 

"Hags!" 

The  epithet  gave  rise  to  a  burst  of  merriment.  But 
Don  Luis,  as  though  in  a  hurry  to  finish  his  story,  at  once 
went  on: 

"In  any  case,  they  saved  my  life,  the  hussies,  and  their 
aid  never  failed  me.  My  forty-two  watch-dogs,  deprived 
of  their  arms  and  shaking  with  fear  in  those  solitudes 
where  everything  is  a  trap  and  where  death  lies  in  wait 
for  you  at  any  minute,  gathered  round  me  as  their  real 
protector.  When  we  joined  the  great  tribe  to  which  they 
belonged  I  was  their  actual  chief.  And  it  took  me  less 
than  three  months  of  dangers  faced  in  common,  of  am- 
bushes defeated  under  my  advice,  of  raids  and  pillages 
effected  by  my  direction,  to  become  the  chief  also  of  the 
whole  tribe. 

"I  spoke  their  language,  I  practised  their  religion,  I 
wore  their  dress,  I  conformed  to  their  customs :  alas !  had 
I  not  five  wives?  Henceforward,  my  dream,  which  had 
gradually  taken  definite  shape  in  my  mind,  became  possi- 
ble. 

"I  sent  one  of  my  most  faithful  adherents  to  France, 
with  sixty  letters  to  hand  to  sixty  men  whose  names  and 
addresses  he  learned  by  heart.  Those  sixty  men  were 


ARSENE  I  OF  MAURETANIA  407 

sixty  associates  whom  Arsene  Lupin  had  disbanded  before 
he  threw  himself  from  the  Capri  cliffs.  All  had  retired 
from  business,  with  a  hundred  thousand  francs  apiece  in 
ready  money  and  a  small  trade  or  public  post  to  keep  them 
occupied.  I  had  provided  one  with  a  tobacconist's  shop, 
another  with  a  job  as  a  park-keeper,  others  with  sinecures 
in  the  government  offices.  In  short,  they  were  respectable 
citizens. 

"To  all  of  them  —  whether  public  servants,  farmers, 
municipal  councillors,  grocers,  sacristans,  or  what  not  — 
I  wrote  the  same  letter,  made  the  same  offer,  and  gave 
the  same  instructions  in  case  they  should  accept.  .  .  . 
Monsieur  le  President,  I  thought  that,  of  the  sixty,  ten 
or  fifteen  at  most  would  come  and  join  me:  sixty  came, 
Monsieur  le  President,  sixty,  and  not  one  less !  Sixty  men. 
punctually  arrived  at  the  appointed  place. 

"On  the  day  fixed,  at  the  hour  named,  my  old  armed 
cruiser,  the  Ascendam,  which  they  had  brought  back,  an- 
chored in  the  mouth  of  the  Wady  Draa,  on  the  Atlantic 
coast,  between  Cape  Nun  and  Cape  Juby.  Two  long- 
boats plied  to  and  fro  and  landed  my  friends  and  the  mu- 
nitions of  war  which  they  had  brought  with  them:  camp 
furniture,  quick-firing  guns,  ammunition,  motor-boats, 
stores  and  provisions,  trading  wares,  glass  beads,  and 
cases  of  gold  as  well,  for  my  sixty  good  men  and  true  had 
insisted  on  turning  their  share  ot  the  old  profits  into  cash 
and  on  putting  into  the  new  venture  the  six  million  francs 
which  they  had  received  from  their  governor.  .  .  . 

"Need  I  say  more,  Monsieur  le  President?  Must  I 
tell  you  what  a  chief  like  Arsene  Lupin  was  able  to  attempt 
seconded  by  sixty  fine  fellows  of  that  stamp  and  backed 
by  an  army  of  ten  thousand  well-armed  and  well-trained 


408 

Moorish  fanatics?  He  attempted  it;  and  his  success  was 
unparalleled. 

"I  do  not  think  that  there  has  ever  been  an  idyl  like 
that  through  which  we  lived  during  those  fifteen  months, 
first  on  the  heights  of  the  Atlas  range  and  then  in  the  in- 
fernal plains  of  the  Sahara:  an  idyl  of  heroism,  of  priva- 
tion, of  superhuman  torture  and  superhuman  joy;  an 
idyl  of  hunger  and  thirst,  of  total  defeat  and  dazzling 
victory.  ... 

"My  sixty  trusty  followers  threw  themselves  into  their 
work  with  might  and  main.  Oh,  what  men!  You  know 
them,  Monsieur  le  President  du  Conseil !  You've  had  them 
to  deal  with,  Monsieur  le  Pref  et  de  Police !  The  beggars ! 
Tears  come  to  my  eyes  when  I  think  of  some  of  them. 

"There  were  Charolais  and  his  son,  who  distinguished 
themselves  in  the  case  of  the  Princesse  de  Lamballe's 
tiara.  There  were  Marco,  who  owed  his  fame  to  the 
Kesselbach  case,  and  Auguste,  who  was  your  chief  messen- 
ger, Monsieur  le  President.  There  were  the  Growler  and 
the  Masher,  who  achieved  such  glory  in  the  hunt  for 
the  crystal  stopper.  There  were  the  brothers  Beuzeville, 
whom  I  used  to  call  the  two  A j axes.  There  were  Philippe 
d'Antrac,  who  was  better  born  than  any  Bourbon,  and 
Pierre  Le  Grand  and  Tristan  Le  Roux  and  Joseph  Le 
Jeune." 

"And  there  was  Arsene  Lupin,"  said  Valenglay,  roused 
to  enthusiasm  by  this  list  of  Homeric  heroes. 

"And  there  was  Arsene  Lupin,"  repeated  Don  Luis. 

He  nodded  his  head,  smiled,  and  continued,  in  a  very 
quiet  voice: 

"  I  will  not  speak  of  him,  Monsieur  le  President.  I  will 
not  speak  of  him,  for  the  simple  reason  that  you  would 


ARSENE  I  OF  MAURETANIA  409 

not  beheve  my  story.  What  they  tell  about  him  when  he 
was  with  the  Foreign  Legion  is  mere  child's  play  beside 
what  was  to  come  later.  Lupin  was  only  a  private  soldier. 
In  South  Morocco  he  was  a  general.  Not  till  then  did 
Arsene  Lupin  really  show  what  he  could  do.  And,  I  say 
it  without  pride,  not  even  I  foresaw  what  that  was.  The 
Achilles  of  the  legend  performed  no  greater  feats.  Hanni- 
bal and  Csesar  achieved  no  more  striking  results. 

"All  I  need  tell  you  is  that,  in  fifteen  months,  Arsene 
Lupin  conquered  a  kingdom  twice  the  size  of  France. 
From  the  Berbers  of  Morocco,  from  the  indomitable 
Tuaregs,  from  the  Arabs  of  the  extreme  south  of  Algeria, 
from  the  negroes  who  overrun  Senegal,  from  the  Moors 
along  the  Atlantic  coast,  under  the  blazing  sun,  in  the 
flames  of  hell,  he  conquered  half  the  Sahara  and  what  we 
may  call  ancient  Mauretania. 

"A  kingdom  of  deserts  and  swamps?  Partly,  but  a 
kingdom  all  the  same,  with  oases,  wells,  rivers,  forests, 
and  incalculable  riches,  a  kingdom  with  ten  million  men 
and  a  hundred  thousand  warriors.  This  is  the  kingdom 
which  I  offer  to  France,  Monsieur  le  President  du  Con- 
seil." 

Valenglay  did  not  conceal  his  amazement.  Greatly 
excited  and  even  perturbed  by  what  he  had  learned,  lean- 
ing over  his  extraordinary  visitor,  with  his  hands  clutching 
at  the  map  of  Africa,  he  whispered: 

"Explain  yourself;  be  more  precise." 

Don  Luis  answered: 

"Monsieur  le  President  du  Conseil,  I  will  not  remind 
you  of  the  events  of  the  last  few  years.  France,  resolving 
to  pursue  a  splendid  dream  of  dominion  over  North  Africa, 
has  had  to  part  with  a  portion  of  the  Congo.  I  propose 


410 

to  heal  the  painful  wound  by  giving  her  thirty  times  as 
much  as  she  has  lost.  And  I  turn  the  magnificent  and 
distant  dream  into  an  immediate  certainty  by  joining 
the  small  slice  of  Morocco  which  you  have  conquered  to 
Senegal  at  one  blow. 

"To-day,  Greater  France  in  Africa  exists.  Thanks  to 
me,  it  is  a  solid  and  compact  expanse.  Millions  of  square 
miles  of  territory  and  a  coastline  stretching  for  several 
thousand  miles  from  Tunis  to  the  Congo,  save  for  a  few 
insignificant  interruptions." 

"It's  a  Utopia,"  Valenglay  protested. 

"It's  a  reality." 

"Nonsense!  It  will  take  us  twenty  years'  fighting  to 
achieve." 

"  It  will  take  you  exactly  five  minutes ! "  cried  Don  Luis, 
with  irresistible  enthusiasm.  "What  I  offer  you  is  not 
the  conquest  of  an  empire,  but  a  conquered  empire,  duly 
pacified  and  administered,  in  full  working  order  and  full 
of  life.  My  gift  is  a  present,  not  a  future  gift. 

"I,  too,  Monsieur  le  President  du  Conseil,  I,  Arsene 
Lupin,  had  cherished  a  splendid  dream.  After  toiling 
and  moiling  all  my  life,  after  knowing  all  the  ups  and 
downs  of  existence,  richer  than  Croesus,  because  all  the 
wealth  of  the  world  was  mine,  and  poorer  than  Job,  be- 
cause I  had  distributed  all  my  treasures,  surfeited  with 
everything,  tired  of  unhappiness,  and  more  tired  still  of 
happiness,  sick  of  pleasure,  of  passion,  of  excitement,  I 
wanted  to  do  something  that  is  incredible  in  the  present 
day:  to  reign! 

"And  a  still  more  incredible  phenomenon:  when  this 
thing  was  accomplished,  when  the  dead  Arsene  Lupin  had 
come  to  life  again  as  a  sultan  out  of  the  Arabian  Nights, 


ARSENE  I  OF  MAURETANIA  411 

as  a  reigning,  governing,  law-giving  Arsene  Lupin,  head 
of  the  state  and  head  of  the  church,  I  determined,  in  a 
few  years,  at  one  stroke,  to  tear  down  the  screen  of  rebel 
tribes  against  which  you  were  waging  a  desultory  and 
tiresome  war  in  the  north  of  Morocco,  while  I  was  quietly 
and  silently  building  up  my  kingdom  at  the  back  of  it. 

"Then,  face  to  face  with  France  and  as  powerful  as 
herself,  like  a  neighbour  treating  on  equal  terms,  I  would 
have  cried  to  her,  'It's  I,  Arsene  Lupin!  Behold  the 
former  swindler  and  gentleman  burglar!  The  Sultan  of 
Adrar,  the  Sultan  of  Iguidi,  the  Sultan  of  El  Djouf,  the 
Sultan  of  the  Tuaregs,  the  Sultan  of  Aubata,  the  Sultan  of 
Brakna  and  Frerzon,  all  these  am  I,  the  Sultan  of  Sultans, 
grandson  of  Mahomet,  son  of  Allah,  I,  I,  I,  Arsene  Lupin ! ' 

"And,  before  taking  the  little  grain  of  poison  that  sets 
one  free  —  for  a  man  like  Arsene  Lupin  has  no  right  to 
grow  old  —  I  should  have  signed  the  treaty  of  peace,  the 
deed  of  gift  in  which  I  bestowed  a  kingdom  on  France, 
signed  it,  below  the  flourishes  of  my  grand  dignitaries, 
kaids,  pashas,  and  marabouts,  with  my  lawful  signature, 
the  signature  to  which  I  am  fully  entitled,  which  I  con- 
quered at  the  point  of  my  sword  and  by  my  all-powerful 
will:  ' Arsene  I,  Emperor  of  Mauretania!" 

Don  Luis  uttered  all  these  words  in  a  strong  voice,  but 
without  emphasis,  with  the  very  simple  emotion  and 
pride  of  a  man  who  has  done  much  and  who  knows  the 
value  of  what  he  has  done.  There  were  but  two  ways  of 
replying  to  him:  by  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  as  one  replies 
to  a  madman,  or  by  the  silence  that  expresses  reflection 
and  approval. 

The  Prime  Minister  and  the  Prefect  of  Police  said 
nothing,  but  their  looks  betrayed  their  secret  thoughts. 


412  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

And  deep  down  within  themselveg  they  felt  that  they 
were  in  the  presence  of  an  absolutely  exceptional  specimen 
of  mankind,  created  to  perform  immoderate  actions  and 
fashioned  by  his  own  hand  for  a  superhuman  destiny. 

Don  Luis  continued: 

"It  was  a  fine  curtain,  was  it  not,  Monsieur  le  President 
du  Conseil?  And  the  end  was  worthy  of  the  work.  I 
should  have  been  happy  to  have  had  it  so.  Arsene  Lupin 
dying  on  a  throne,  sceptre  in  hand,  would  have  been  a 
spectacle  not  devoid  of  glamour.  Arsene  Lupin  dying 
with  his  title  of  Arsene  I,  Emperor  of  Mauretania  and 
benefactor  of  France:  what  an  apotheosis!  The  gods 
have  willed  it  otherwise.  Jealous,  no  doubt,  they  are 
lowering  me  to  the  level  of  my  cousins  of  the  old  world 
and  turning  me  into  that  absurd  creature,  a  king  in  exile. 
Their  will  be  done !  Peace  to  the  late  Emperor  of  Maure- 
tania. He  has  strutted  and  fretted  his  hour  upon  the 
stage. 

"Arsene  I  is  dead:  long  live  France!  Monsieur  le 
President  du  Conseil,  I  repeat  my  offer.  Florence  Levas- 
seur  is  in  danger.  I  alone  can  rescue  her  from  the  monster 
who  is  carrying  her  away.  It  will  take  me  twenty-four 
hours.  In  return  for  twenty-four  hours'  liberty  I  will 
give  you  the  Mauretanian  Empire.  Do  you  accept,  Mon- 
sieur le  President  du  Conseil?" 

"Well,  certainly,  I  accept,"  said  Valenglay,  laughing. 
"What  do  you  say,  my  dear  Desmalions?  The  whole 
thing  may  not  be  very  orthodox,  but,  hang  it!  Paris  is 
worth  a  mass  and  the  Kingdom  of  Mauretania  is  a  tempt- 
ing morsel.  We'll  risk  the  experiment." 

Don  Luis's  face  expressed  so  sincere  a  joy  that  one  might 
have  thought  that  he  had  just  achieved  the  most  brilliant 


ARSENE  I  OF  MAURETANIA  413 

victory  instead  of  sacrificing  a  crown  and  flinging  into 
the  gutter  the  most  fantastic  dream  that  mortal  man  had 
ever  conceived  and  realized. 

He  asked : 

"What  guarantees  do  you  require,  Monsieur  le  Presi- 
dent?" 

"None." 

"I  can  show  you  treaties,  documents  to  prove 

"Don't  trouble.  We'll  talk  about  all  that  to-morrow. 
Meanwhile,  go  ahead.  You  are  free." 

The  essential  word,  the  incredible  word,  was  spoken. 

Don  Luis  took  a  few  steps  toward  the  door. 

"One  word  more,  Monsieur  le  President,"  he  said, 
stopping.  "Among  my  former  companions  is  one  for 
whom  I  procured  a  post  suited  to  his  inclinations  and  his 
deserts.  This  man  I  did  not  send  for  to  come  to  Africa, 
thinking  that  some  day  or  other  he  might  be  of  use  to  me 
through  the  position  which  he  occupied.  I  am  speaking 
of  Mazeroux,  a  sergeant  in  the  detective  service." 

"Sergeant  Mazeroux,  whom  Caceres  denounced,  with 
corroborating  evidence,  as  an  accomplice  of  Arsene  Lupin, 
is  in  prison." 

"Sergeant  Mazeroux  is  a  model  of  professional  honour, 
Monsieur  le  President.  I  owed  his  assistance  only  to  the 
fact  that  I  was  helping  the  police.  I  was  accepted  as  an 
auxiliary  and  more  or  less  patronized  by  Monsieur  le 
Prefet.  Mazeroux  thwarted  me  in  anything  I  tried  to  do 
that  was  at  all  legal.  And  he  would  have  been  the  first 
to  take  me  by  the  collar  if  he  had  been  so  instructed.  I 
ask  for  his  release." 

"Oho!" 

"Monsieur  le  President,  your  consent  will  be  an  act  of 


414  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

justice  and  I  beg  you  to  grant  it.  Sergeant  Mazeroux 
shall  leave  France.  He  can  be  charged  by  the  govern- 
ment with  a  secret  mission  in  the  south  of  Morocco,  with 
the  rank  of  colonial  inspector." 

"Agreed,"  said  Valenglay,  laughing  heartily.  And  he 
added,  "My  dear  Prefect,  once  we  depart  from  the  strictly 
lawful  path,  there's  no  saying  where  we  come  to.  But 
the  end  justifies  the  means;  and  the  end  which  we  have 
in  view  is  to  have  done  with  this  loathsome  Mornington 
case." 

"This  evening  everything  will  be  settled,"  said  Don 
Luis. 

"I  hope  so.     Our  men  are  on  the  track." 

"They  are  on  the  track,  but  they  have  to  check  that 
track  at  every  town,  at  every  village,  by  inquiries  made 
of  every  peasant  they  meet;  they  have  to  find  out  if  the 
motor  has  not  branched  off  somewhere;  and  they  are 
wasting  time.  I  shall  go  straight  for  the  scoundrel." 

"By  what  miracle?" 

"That  must  be  my  secret  for  the  present,  Monsieur 
le  President." 

"Very  well.     Is  there  anything  you  want?" 

"This  map  of  France." 

"Take  it." 

"And  a  couple  of  revolvers." 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet  will  be  good  enough  to  ask  his 
inspectors  for  two  revolvers  and  to  give  them  to  you. 
Is  that  all?  Any  money?" 

"No,  thank  you,  Monsieur  le  President.  I  always 
carry  a  useful  fifty  thousand  francs  in  my  pocketbook, 
in  case  of  need." 

"In  that  case,"  said  the  Prefect  of  Police,  "I  shall  have 


ARSENE  I  OF  MAURETANIA  415 

to  send  some  one  with  you  to  the  lockup.  I  presume 
your  pocketbook  was  among  the  things  taken  from  you.'* 

Don  Luis  smiled: 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  the  things  that  people  can  take 
from  me  are  never  of  the  least  importance.  My  pocket- 
book  is  at  the  lockup,  as  you  say.  But  the  money  - 

He  raised  his  left  leg,  took  his  boot  in  his  hands  and 
gave  a  slight  twist  to  the  heel.  There  was  a  little  click, 
and  a  sort  of  double  drawer  shot  out  of  the  front  of  the 
sole.  It  contained  two  sheafs  of  bank  notes  and  a  num- 
ber of  diminutive  articles,  such  as  a  gimlet,  a  watch  spring, 
and  some  pills. 

"The  wherewithal  to  escape,"  he  said,  "to  live  and  — 
to  die.  Good-bye,  Monsieur  le  President." 

In  the  hall  M.  Desmalions  told  the  inspectors  to  let 
their  prisoner  go  free.  Don  Luis  asked: 

"Monsieur  le  Prefet,  did  Deputy  Chief  Weber  give 
you  any  particulars  about  the  brute's  car?" 

"Yes,  he  telephoned  from  Versailles.  It's  a  deep- 
yellow  car,  belonging  to  the  Compagnie  des  Cometes. 
The  driver's  seat  is  on  the  left.  He's  wearing  a  gray 
cloth  cap  with  a  black  leather  peak." 

"Thank  you,  Monsieur  le  Prefet." 

And  he  left  the  house. 

An  inconceivable  thing  had  happened.  Don  Luis  was 
free.  Half  an  hour's  conversation  had  given  him  the 
power  of  acting  and  of  fighting  the  decisive  battle. 

He  went  off  at  a  run.  At  the  Trocadero  he  jumped  into 
a  taxi. 

"Go  to  Issy-les-Moulineaux!"  he  cried.  "Full  speed! 
Forty  francs!" 


416 

The  cab  flew  through  Passy,  crossed  the  Seine  and 
reached  the  Issy-les-Moulineaux  aviation  ground  in  ten 
minutes. 

None  of  the  aeroplanes  was  out,  for  there  was  a  stiff 
breeze  blowing.  Don  Luis  ran  to  the  sheds.  The  owners' 
names  were  written  over  the  doors. 

"Davanne,"  he  muttered.     "That's  the  man  I  want." 

The  door  of  the  shed  was  open.  A  short,  stoutish 
man,  with  a  long  red  face,  was  smoking  a  cigarette  and 
watching  some  mechanics  working  at  a  monoplane.  The 
little  man  was  Davanne  himself,  the  famous  airman. 

Don  Luis  took  him  aside  and,  knowing  from  the  papers 
the  sort  of  man  that  he  wTas,  opened  the  conversation  so 
as  to  surprise  him  from  the  start : 

"Monsieur,"  he  said,  unfolding  his  map  of  France,  "I 
want  to  catch  up  some  one  who  has  carried  off  the  woman 
I  love  and  is  making  for  Nantes  by  motor.  The  abduc- 
tion took  place  at  midnight.  It  is  now  about  eight 
o'clock.  Suppose  that  the  motor,  which  is  just  a  hired 
taxi  with  a  driver  who  has  no  inducement  to  break  his 
neck,  does  an  average  of  twenty  miles  an  hour,  including 
stoppages  —  in  twelve  hours'  time  —  that  is  to  say,  at 
twelve  o'clock  —  our  man  will  have  covered  two  hundred 
and  forty  miles  and  reached  a  spot  between  Angers  and 
Nantes,  at  this  point  on  the  map." 

"Les  Ponts-de-Drive,"  agreed  Davanne,  who  was 
quietly  listening. 

"Very  well.  Suppose,  on  the  other  hand,  that  an  aero- 
plane were  to  start  from  Issy-les-Moulineaux  at  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning  and  travel  at  the  rate  of  sixty  miles 
an  hour,  without  stopping  —  in  four  hours'  time  —  that 
is  to  say,  at  twelve  o'clock  —  it  would  reach  Les  Ponts- 


ARS&NE  I  OF  MAURETANIA  417 

de-Drive  at  the  exact  same  moment  as  the  motor.  Am  I 
right?" 

"Perfectly." 

"In  that  case,  if  we  agree,  all  is  well.  Does  your  ma- 
chine carry  a  passenger?" 

"Sometimes  she  does." 

"We'll  start  at  once.     What  are  your  terms?" 

"It  depends.     Who  are  you?" 

"Arsene  Lupin." 

"The  devil  you  are!"  exclaimed  Davanne,  a  little  taken 
aback. 

"I  am  Arsene  Lupin.  You  must  know  the  best  part 
of  what  has  happened  from  reading  about  it  in  the  papers. 
Well,  Florence  Levasseur  was  kidnapped  last  night.  I 
want  to  save  her.  What 's  your  price?" 

"Nothing." 

"That's  too  much!" 

"Perhaps,  but  the  adventure  amuses  me.  It  will  be  an 
advertisement."  i 

"Very  well.  But  your  silence  is  necessary  until  to- 
morrow. I'll  buy  it.  Here's  twenty  thousand  francs." 

Ten  minutes  later  Don  Luis  was  dressed  in  an  airman's 
suit,  cap,  and  goggles;  and  an  aeroplane  rose  to  a  height  of 
two  thousand  five  hundred  feet  to  avoid  the  air  currents, 
flew  above  the  Seine,  and  darted  due  west  across  France. 

Versailles,  Maintenon,  Chartres.     .     . 

Don  Luis  had  never  been  up  in  an  aeroplane.  France 
had  achieved  the  conquest  of  the  air  while  he  was  fighting 
with  the  Legion  and  in  the  plains  of  the  Sahara.  Never- 
theless, sensitive  though  he  was  to  new  impressions  — 
and  what  more  exciting  impression  could  he  have  than 
this?  —  he  did  not  experience  the  heavenly  delight  of  the 


418  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

man  who  for  the  first  time  soars  above  the  earth.  What 
monopolized  his  thoughts,  strained  his  nerves,  and  excited 
his  whole  being  to  an  exquisite  degree  was  the  as  yet  im_ 
possible  but  inevitable  sight  of  the  motor  which  they  were 
pursuing. 

Amid  the  tremendous  swarm  of  things  beneath  them, 
amid  the  unexpected  din  of  the  wings  and  the  engine,  in 
the  immensity  of  the  sky,  in  the  infinity  of  the  horizon, 
his  eyes  sought  nothing  but  that,  and  his  ears  admitted 
no  other  sound  than  the  hum  of  the  invisible  car.  His 
were  the  mighty  and  brutal  sensations  of  the  hunter  chas- 
ing his  game.  He  was  the  bird  of  prey  whom  the  dis- 
traught quarry  has  no  chance  of  escaping. 

Nogent-le-Rotrou,  La  Ferte-Bernard,  Le  Mans.    .     .     . 

The  two  companions  did  not  exchange  a  single  word. 
Before  him  Perenna  saw  Davanne's  broad  back  and  power- 
ful neck  and  shoulders.  But,  by  bending  his  head  a 
little,  he  saw  the  boundless  space  beneath  him;  and  nothing 
interested  him  but  the  white  ribbon  of  road  that  ran  from 
town  to  town  and  from  village  to  village,  at  times  quite 
straight,  as  though  a  hand  had  stretched  it,  and  at  others 
!azily  winding,  broken  by  a  river  or  a  church. 

On  this  ribbon,  at  some  place  always  closer  and  closer, 
were  Florence  and  her  abductor! 

He  never  doubted  it!  The  yellow  taxi  was  continuing 
its  patient  and  plucky  little  effort .  Mile  after  mile, 
through  plains  and  villages,  fields  and  forests,  it  was 
making  Angers,  with  Les  Ponts-de-Drive  after,  and,  right 
at  the  end  of  the  ribbon,  the  unattainable  goal:  Nantes, 
Saint-Nazaire,  the  steamer  ready  to  start,  and  victory 
for  the  scoundrel.  .  .  . 

He  laughed  at  the  idea.     As  if  there  could  be  a  question 


ARSENE  I  OF  MAURETANIA  L419 

of  any  victory  but  his,  the  victory  of  the  falcon  over  its 
prey,  the  victory  of  the  flying  bird  over  the  game  that 
runs  afoot !  Not  for  a  second  did  he  entertain  the  thought 
that  the  enemy  might  have  slunk  away  by  taking  another 
road. 

There  are  some  certainties  that  are  equivalent  to  facts. 
And  this  one  was  so  great  that  it  seemed  to  him  that  his 
adversaries  were  obliged  to  comply  with  it.  The  car  was 
travelling  along  the  road  to  Nantes.  It  would  cover 
an  average  of  twenty  miles  an  hour.  And  as  he  himself 
was  travelling  at  the  rate  of  sixty  miles,  the  encounter 
would  take  place  at  the  spot  named,  Les  Ponts-de-Drive, 
and  at  the  hour  named,  twelve  o'clock. 

A  cluster  of  houses,  a  huge  castle,  towers,  steeples: 
Angers.  .  .  . 

Don  Luis  asked  Davanne  the  time.  It  was  ten  minutes 
to  twelve. 

Already  Angers  was  a  vanished  vision.  Once  more 
the  open  country,  broken  up  with  many-coloured  fields. 
Through  it  all,  a  road. 

And,  on  that  road,  a  yellow  motor. 

The  yellow  motor!  The  brute's  motor!  The  motor 
with  Florence  Levasseur! 

Don  Luis's  joy  contained  no  surprise.  He  knew  so  well 
that  this  was  bound  to  happen! 

Davanne  turned  round  and  cried: 

"That's  the  one,  isn't  it?" 

"Yes,  go  straight  for  them." 

The  airship  dipped  through  space  and  caught  up  the 
car  almost  at  once.  Then  Davanne  slowed  his  engine 
and  kept  at  six  hundred  feet  above  the  car  and  a  little 
way  behind. 


420  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

From  here  they  made  out  all  the  details.  The  driver 
was  seated  on  the  left.  He  wore  a  gray  cap  with  a  black 
peak.  It  was  one  of  the  deep-yellow  taxis  of  the  Com- 
pagnie  des  Cometes.  It  was  the  taxi  which  they  were 
pursuing.  And  Florence  was  inside  with  her  abductor. 

"At  last,"  thought  Don  Luis,  "I  have  them!" 

They  flew  for  some  time,  keeping  the  same  distance. 

Davanne  waited  for  a  signal  which  Don  Luis  was  in 
no  hurry  to  give.  He  was  revelling  in  the  sensation  of 
his  power,  with  a  force  made  up  of  mingled  pride,  hatred, 
and  cruelty.  He  was  indeed  the  eagle  hovering  overhead 
with  its  talons  itching  to  rend  live  flesh.  Escaped  from 
the  cage  in  which  he  had  been  imprisoned,  released  from 
the  bonds  that  fastened  him,  he  had  come  all  the  way 
at  full  flight  and  was  ready  to  swoop  upon  the  helpless 
prey. 

He  lifted  himself  in  his  seat  and  gave  Davanne  his  in- 
structions : 

"Be  careful,"  he  said,  "not  to  brush  too  close  by  them. 
They  might  put  a  bullet  into  us." 

Another  minute  passed. 

Suddenly  they  saw  that,  half  a  mile  ahead,  the  road 
divided  into  three,  thus  forming  a  very  wide  open  space 
which  was  still  further  extended  by  two  triangular  patches 
&f  grass  where  the  three  roads  met. 

"Now?"  asked  Davanne,  turning  to  Don  Luis. 

The  surrounding  country  was  deserted. 

"Off  you  go!"  cried  Don  Luis. 

The  aeroplane  seemed  to  shoot  down  suddenly,  as 
though  driven  by  an  irresistible  force,  which  sent  it  flying 
like  an  arrow  toward  the  mark.  It  passed  at  three  hun- 
dred feet  above  the  car,  and  then,  all  at  once,  checking 


ARS£NE  i  OF  MAURETANIA        421 

its  career,  choosing  the  spot  at  which  it  meant  to  hit  the 
target,  calmly,  silently,  like  a  night-bird,  steering  clear 
of  the  trees  and  sign-posts,  it  alighted  softly  on  the  grass 
of  the  crossroads. 

Don  Luis  sprang  out  and  ran  toward  the  motor,  which 
was  coming  along  at  a  rapid  pace.  He  stood  in  the  middle 
of  the  road,  levelled  his  two  revolvers,  and  shouted: 

"Stop,  or  I  fire!" 

The  terrified  driver  put  on  both  brakes.  The  car  pulled 
up. 

Don  Luis  rushed  to  one  of  the  doors. 

"Thunder!"  he  roared,  discharging  one  of  his  revolvers 
for  no  reason  and  smashing  a  window-pane. 

There  was  no  one  in  the  car. 


CHAPTER  NINETEEN 

"THE  SNARE  is  LAID.    BEWARE,  LUPIN!" 

THE  power  that  had  impelled  Don  Luis  to  battle 
and  victory  was  so  intense  that  it  suffered,  so  to 
speak,  no  check.  Disappointment,  rage,  humilia- 
tion, torture,  were  all  swallowed  up  in  an  immediate  desire 
for  action  and  information,  together  with  a  longing  to 
continue  the  chase.  The  rest  was  but  an  incident  of  no 
importance,  which  would  soon  be  very  simply  explained. 

The  petrified  taxi-driver  was  gazing  wildly  at  the 
peasants  coming  from  the  distant  farms,  attracted  by 
the  sound  of  the  aeroplane.  Don  Luis  took  him  by  the 
throat  and  put  the  barrel  of  his  revolver  to  the  man's 
temple : 

"Tell  me  what  you  know  —  or  you're  a  dead  man." 

And  when  the  unhappy  wretch  began  to  stammer  out 
entreaties : 

"It's  no  use  moaning,  no  use  hoping  for  assistance. 
.  .  .  Those  people  won't  get  here  in  time.  So  there's 
only  one  way  of  saving  yourself:  speak!  Last  night  a 
gentleman  came  to  Versailles  from  Paris  in  a  taxi,  left 
it  and  took  yours:  is  that  it?" 

"Yes." 

"The  gentleman  had  a  lady  with  him?" 

"Yes." 

"And  he  engaged  you  to  take  him  to  Nantes?" 

422 


"THE  SNARE  IS  LAID"  423 

"Yes." 

"But  he  changed  his  mind  on  the  way  and  told  you 
to  put  him  down?" 

"Yes." 

"Where?" 

"Before  we  got  to  Mans,  in  a  little  road  on  the  right, 
with  a  sort  of  coach-house,  looking  like  a  shed,  a  hundred 
yards  down  it.  They  both  got  out  there." 

"And  you  went  on?" 

"He  paid  me  to." 

"How  much?" 

"Five  hundred  francs.  And  there  was  another  fare 
waiting  at  Nantes  that  I  was  to  pick  up  and  bring  back 
to  Paris  for  a  thousand  francs  more." 

"Do  you  believe  in  that  other  fare?" 

"No.  I  think  he  wanted  to  put  people  off  the  scept 
by  sending  them  after  me  to  Nantes  while  he  branched 
off.  Still,  I  had  my  money." 

"And,  when  you  left  them,  weren't  you  curious  to  see 
what  happened?" 

"No." 

"Take  care!  A  movement  of  my  finger  and  I  blow 
out  your  brains.  Speak!  " 

"Well,  yes,  then.  I  went  back  on  foot,  behind  a  bank 
covered  with  trees.  The  man  had  opened  the  coach- 
house and  was  starting  a  small  limousine  car.  The  lady 
did  not  want  to  get  in.  They  argued  pretty  fiercely. 
He  threatened  and  begged  by  turns.  But  I  could  not 
hear  what  they  said.  She  seemed  very  tired.  He  gave 
her  a  glass  of  water,  which  he  drew  from  a  tap  in  the  wall. 
Then  she  consented.  He  closed  the  door  on  her  and  took 
his  seat  at  the  wheel." 


424  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"A  glass  of  water!"  cried  Don  Luis.  "Are  you  sure 
he  put  nothing  else  into  the  glass?" 

The  driver  seemed  surprised  at  the  question  and  then 
answered : 

"Yes,  I  think  he  did.  He  took  something  from  his 
pocket." 

W Without  the  lady's  knowledge?" 

"Yes,  she  didn't  see." 

Don  Luis  mastered  his  horror.  After  all  it  was  impossi- 
ble that  the  villain  had  poisoned  Florence  in  that  way, 
at  that  place,  without  anything  to  warrant  so  great  a 
hurry.  No,  it  was  more  likely  that  he  had  employed  a 
narcotic,  a  drug  of  some  sort  which  would  dull  Florence's 
brain  and  make  her  incapable  of  noticing  by  what  new 
roads  and  through  what  towns  he  was  taking  her. 

"And  then,"  he  repeated,  "she  decided  to  step  in?" 

"Yes;  and  he  shut  the  door  and  got  into  the  driver's 
secit.  I  went  away  then." 

"Before  knowing  which  direction  they  took?" 

"Yes." 

"Did  you  suspect  on  the  way  that  they  thought  that 
they  were  being  followed?" 

"Certainly.  He  did  nothing  but  put  his  head  out  of 
the  window." 

"Did  the  lady  cry  out  at  all?" 

"No." 

"Would  you  know  him  again  if  you  saw  him?" 

"No,  I'm  sure  I  shouldn't.  At  Versailles  it  was  dark. 
And  this  morning  I  was  too  far  away.  Besides,  it's 
curious,  but  the  first  time  he  struck  me  as  very  tall,  and 
this  morning,  on  the  contrary,  he  looked  quite  a  short 
man,  as  though  bent  in  two.  I  can't  understand  it  at  all." 


"THE  SNARE  IS  LAID"  425 

Don  Luis  reflected.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  asked 
all  the  necessary  questions.  Moreover,  a  gig  drawn  by  a 
quick-trotting  horse  was  approaching  the  crossroads. 
There  were  two  others  behind  it.  And  the  groups  of 
peasants  were  now  quite  near.  He  must  finish  the  busi- 
ness. 

He  said  to  the  chauffeur: 

"I  can  see  by  your  face  that  you  intend  to  talk  about 
me.  Don't  do  that,  my  man:  it  would  be  foolish  of  you. 
Here's  a  thousand-franc  note  for  you.  Only,  if  you  blab, 
I'll  make  you  repent  it.  That's  all  I  have  to  say  to  you." 

He  turned  to  Davanne,  whose  machine  was  beginning 
to  block  the  traffic,  and  asked: 

"Can  we  start?" 

"Whenever  you  like.     Where  are  we  going?" 

Paying  no  attention  to  the  movements  of  the  people 
coming  from  every  side,  Don  Luis  unfolded  his  map  of 
France  and  spread  it  out  before  him.  He  experienced  a 
few  seconds  of  anxiety  at  seeing  the  complicated  tangle 
of  roads  and  picturing  the  infinite  number  of  places  to 
which  the  villain  might  carry  Florence.  But  he  pulled 
himself  together.  He  did  not  allow  himself  to  hesitate, 
He  refused  even  to  reflect. 

He  was  determined  to  find  out,  and  to  find  out  every- 
thing, at  once,  without  clues,  without  useless  consider- 
ation, simply  by  the  marvellous  intuition  which  invariably 
guided  him  at  any  crisis  in  his  life. 

And  his  self-respect  also  required  that  he  should  give 
Davanne  his  answer  without  delay,  and  that  the  disappear- 
ance of  those  whom  he  was  pursuing  should  not  seem 
to  embarrass  him.  With  his  eyes  glued  to  the  map,  he 
placed  one  finger  on  Paris  and  another  on  Le  Mans  and, 


426  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

even  before  he  had  asked  himself  why  the  scoundrel  had 
chosen  that  Paris-Le  Mans- Angers  route,  he  knew  the 
answer  to  the  question. 

The  name  of  a  town  had  struck  him  and  made  the 
truth  appear  like  a  flash  of  lightning:  Alengon!  Then 
and  there,  by  the  light  of  his  memory,  he  penetrated  the 
mystery. 

He  repeated: 

"Where  are  we  going?  Back  again,  bearing  to  the 
left." 

"Any  particular  place?" 

"Alengon." 

"All  right,"  said  Davanne.  "Lend  a  hand,  some  of 
you.  I  can  make  an  easy  start  from  that  field  just 
there." 

Don  Luis  and  a  few  others  helped  him,  and  the  prepa- 
rations were  soon  made.  Davanne  tested  his  engine. 
Everything  was  in  perfect  order. 

At  that  moment  a  powerful  racing  car,  with  a  siren 
yelling  like  a  vicious  animal,  came  tearing  along  the  An- 
gers Road  and  promptly  stopped.  Three  men  got  out 
and  rushed  up  to  the  driver  of  the  yellow  taxicab.  Don 
Luis  recognized  them.  They  were  Weber,  the  deputy 
chief,  and  the  men  who  had  taken  him  to  the  lockup  the 
night  before,  sent  by  the  Prefect  of  Police  to  follow  up 
the  scoundrel's  tracks. 

They  had  a  brief  interchange  of  words  with  the  cab- 
driver,  which  seemed  to  put  them  out;  and  they  kept  on 
gesticulating  and  plying  him  with  fresh  questions  while 
looking  at  their  watches  and  consulting  their  road 
maps. 

Don  Luis  went  up  to  them.     He  was  unrecognizable, 


"THE  SNARE  IS  LAID'*  427 

with  his  head  wrapped  in  his  aviation  cap  and  his  face 
concealed  by  his  goggles.  Changing  his  voice: 

"The  birds  have  flown,  Mr.  Deputy  Chief,"  he  said. 

Weber  looked  at  him  in  utter  amazement. 

Don  Luis  grinned. 

"Yes,  flown.  Our  friend  from  the  He  Saint  Louis  is 
an  artful  dodger,  you  know.  My  lord's  in  his  third  motor. 
After  the  yellow  car  of  which  you  heard  at  Versailles 
last  night,  he  took  another  at  Le  Mans  —  destination 
unknown." 

The  deputy  chief  opened  his  eyes  in  amazement.  Who 
was  this  person  who  was  mentioning  facts  that  had  been 
telephoned  to  police  headquarters  only  at  two  o'clock 
that  morning?  He  gasped: 

"But  who  are  you,  Monsieur?" 

"What?  Don't  you  know  me?  What's  the  good  of 
making  appointments  with  people?  You  strain  every 
nerve  to  be  punctual,  and  then  they  ask  you  who  you 
are!  Come,  Weber,  confess  that  you're  doing  it  to  an- 
noy me.  Must  you  gaze  on  my  features  in  broad  day-, 
light  ?  Here  goes ! ' ' 

He  raised  his  mask. 

"Arsene  Lupin!"  spluttered  the  detective. 

"At  your  service,  young  fellow:  on  foot,  in  the  saddle, 
and  in  mid  air.  That's  where  I'm  going  now.  Good- 
bye." 

And  so  great  was  Weber's  astonishment  at  seeing  Arsene 
Lupin,  whom  he  had  taken  to  the  lockup  twelve  hours 
before,  standing  in  front  of  him,  free,  at  two  hundred  and 
forty  miles  from  Paris,  that  Don  Luis,  as  he  went  back 
to  Davanne,  thought: 

"What  a  crusher!     I've  knocked  him  out  in  one  round. 


428  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

There's  no  hurry.    The  referee  will  count  ten  at  least  three 
times  before  Weber  can  say  'Mother!" 

Davanne  was  ready.  Don  Luis  climbed  into  the  mono- 
plane. The  peasants  pushed  at  the  wheels.  The  ma- 
chine started. 

"North-northeast,"  Don  Luis  ordered.  "Ninety  miles 
an  hour.  Ten  thousand  francs." 

"We've  the  wind  against  us,"  said  Davanne. 

"Five  thousand  francs  extra  for  the  wind,"  shouted  Don 
Luis. 

He  admitted  no  obstacle  in  his  haste  to  reach  Damigni. 
He  now  understood  the  whole  thing  and,  harking  back 
to  the  very  beginning,  he  was  surprised  that  his  mind 
had  never  perceived  the  connection  between  the  two 
skeletons  hanging  in  the  barn  and  the  series  of  crimes 
resulting  from  the  Mornington  inheritance.  Stranger  still, 
how  was  it  that  the  almost  certain  murder  of  Langer- 
nault,  Hippolyte  Fauville's  old  friend,  had  not  afforded 
him  all  the  clues  which  it  contained?  The  crux  of  the 
sinister  plot  lay  in  that. 

Who  could  have  intercepted,  on  Fauville's  behalf,  the 
letters  of  accusation  which  Fauville  was  supposed  to  write 
to  his  old  friend  Langernault,  except  some  one  in  the 
village  or  some  one  who  had  lived  in  the  village? 

And  now  everything  was  clear.  It  was  the  nameless 
scoundrel  who  had  started  his  career  of  crime  by  killing 
old  Langernault  and  then  the  Dedessuslamare  couple. 
The  method  was  the  same  as  later  on:  it  was  not  direct 
murder,  but  anonymous  murder,  murder  by  suggestion. 
Like  Mornington  the  American,  like  Fauville  the  engineer, 
like  Marie,  like  Gaston  Sauverand,  old  Langernault  had 


"THE  SNARE  IS  LAID"  429 

been  craftily  done  away  with  and  the  Dedessuslamare 
couple  driven  to  commit  suicide  in  the  barn. 

It  was  from  there  that  the  tiger  had  come  to  Paris, 
where  later  he  was  to  find  Fauville  and  Cosmo  Morning- 
ton  and  plot  the  tragic  affair  of  the  inheritance. 

And  it  was  there  that  he  was  now  returning! 

There  was  no  doubt  about  that.  To  begin  with,  the 
fact  that  he  had  administered  a  narcotic  to  Florence  con- 
stituted an  indisputable  proof.  Was  he  not  obliged  to 
put  Florence  to  sleep  in  order  to  prevent  her  from  recog- 
nizing the  landscape  at  Alengon  and  Damigni,  or  the  Old 
Castle,  which  she  had  explored  with.  Gaston  Sauverand? 

On  the  other  hand,  the  Le  Mans-Angers-Nantes  route, 
which  had  been  taken  to  put  the  police  on  a  false  track, 
meant  only  an  extra  hour  or  two,  at  most,  for  any  one 
motoring  to  Alengon.  Lastly,  that  coach-house  near  a 
big  town,  that  limousine  waiting,  ready  charged  with 
petrol,  showed  that  the  villain,  when  he  intended  to  visit 
his  retreat,  took  the  precaution  of  stopping  at  Le  Mans, 
in  order  to  go  from  there,  in  his  limousine,  to  Langer- 
nault's  deserted  estate. 

He  would  therefore  reach  his  lair  at  ten  o'clock  that 
morning.  And  he  would  arrive  there  with  Florence  Le- 
vasseur  dead  asleep! 

The  question  forced  itself  upon  him,  the  terrible  per- 
•istent  question  —  what  did  he  mean  to  do  with  Florence 
Levasseur? 

"Faster!    Faster!"  cried  Don  Luis. 

Now  that  he  knew  the  scoundrel's  haunt,  the  man's 
scheme  became  hideously  evident  to  him.  Feeling  him- 
self hunted  down,  lost,  an  object  of  hatred  and  terror  to 
Florence,  whose  eyes  were  now  opened  to  the  true  state 


430  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

of  things,  what  plan  could  he  have  in  mind  except  his 
invariable  plan  of  murder? 

"Faster!"  cried  Don  Luis.  "We're  making  no  head- 
way. Go  faster,  can't  you?" 

Florence  murdered!  Perhaps  the  crime  was  not  yet 
accomplished.  No,  it  could  not  be!  Killing  takes  time. 
It  is  preceded  by  words,  by  the  offer  of  a  bargain,  by 
threats,  by  entreaties,  by  a  wholly  unspeakable  scene. 
But  the  thing  was  being  prepared,  Florence  was  going  to 
die! 

Florence  was  going  to  die  by  the  hand  of  the  brute 
who  loved  her.  For  he  loved  her:  Don  Luis  had  an 
intuition  of  that  monstrous  love;  and  he  was  bound  to 
believe  that  such  a  love  could  only  end  in  torture  and 
bloodshed. 

Sable     .     .     .     Sille-le-Guillaume.     .     .     . 

The  earth  sped  beneath  them.  The  trees  and  houses 
glided  by  like  shadows. 

And  then  Alengon. 

It  was  hardly  more  than  a  quarter  to  two  when  they 
landed  in  a  meadow  between  the  town  and  Damigni. 
Don  Luis  made  inquiries.  A  number  of  motor  cars  had 
passed  along  the  road  to  Damigni,  including  a  small 
limousine  driven  by  a  gentleman  who  had  turned  down 
a  crossroad.  And  this  crossroad  led  to  the  woods  at 
the  back  of  Langernault's  estate,  the  Old  Castle. 

Don  Luis's  conviction  was  so  firm  that,  after  taking 
leave  of  Davanne,  he  helped  him  to  start  on  his  home- 
ward flight.  He  had  no  further  need  of  him.  He  needed 
nobody.  The  final  duel  was  at  hand. 

He  ran  along,  guided  by  the  tracks  of  the  tires  in  the 
dust,  and  followed  the  crossroad.  To  his  great  surprise 


"THE  SNARE  IS  LAID"  431 

this  road  went  nowhere  near  the  wall  behind  the  barn 
from  which  he  had  jumped  a  few  weeks  before.  After 
clearing  the  woods,  Don  Luis  came  out  into  a  large  untilled 
space  where  the  road  turned  back  toward  the  estate  and 
ended  at  an  old  two-winged  gate  protected  with  iron 
sheets  and  bars. 

The  limousine  had  gone  in  that  way. 

"And  I  must  get  in  this  way,  too,"  thought  Don  Luis. 
"I  must  get  in  at  all  costs  and  immediately,  without 
wasting  time  in  looking  for  an  opening  or  a  handy  tree.'* 

Now  the  wall  was  thirteen  feet  high  at  this  spot.  Don 
Luis  got  in.  How  he  managed  it,  by  what  superhuman 
effort,  he  himself  could  not  have  said  after  he  had  done  it. 

Somehow  or  other,  by  hanging  on  to  invisible  projec- 
tions, by  digging  a  knife  which  he  had  borrowed  from 
Davanne  into  the  interstices  between  the  stones,  he  man- 
aged it. 

And  when  he  was  on  the  other  side  he  discovered  the 
tracks  of  the  tires  running  to  the  left,  toward  a  part  of 
the  grounds  which  he  did  not  know,  more  undulating 
than  the  other  and  broken  up  with  little  hills  and  ruined 
buildings  covered  with  thick  curtains  of  ivy. 

Deserted  though  the  rest  of  the  park  was,  this  portion 
seemed  much  more  uncivilized,  in  spite  of  the  ragged 
remains  of  box  and  laurel  hedges  that  stood  here  and 
there  amidst  the  nettles  and  brambles,  and  the  luxuriant 
swarm  of  tall  wild-flowers,  valerian,  mullein,  hemlock,  fox- 
glove, and  angelica. 

Suddenly,  on  turning  the  corner  of  an  old  hedge  of 
clipped  yews,  Don  Luis  saw  the  limousine,  which  had 
been  left,  or,  rather,  hidden  there  in  a  hollow.  The  door 
was  open.  The  disorder  of  the  inside  of  the  car,  the  rug 


432  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

hanging  over  the  footboard,  a  broken  window,  a  cushion 
on  the  floor,  all  bore  witness  to  a  struggle.  The  scoundrel 
had  no  doubt  taken  advantage  of  the  fact  that  Florence 
was  asleep  to  tie  her  up;  and  on  arriving,  when  he  tried 
to  take  her  out  of  the  car,  Florence  must  have  clutched 
at  everything  that  offered. 

Don  Luis  at  once  verified  the  correctness  of  his  theory. 
As  he  went  along  the  very  narrow,  grass-grown  path  that 
led  up  the  slope,  he  saw  that  the  grass  was  uniformly 
pressed  down. 

"Oh,  the  villain!"  he  thought.  "The  viUain!  He 
doesn't  carry  his  victim,  he  drags  her!" 

If  he  had  listened  only  to  his  instinct,  he  would  have 
rushed  to  Florence's  rescue.  But  his  profound  sense  of 
what  to  do  and  what  to  avoid  saved  him  from  committing 
any  such  imprudence.  At  the  first  alarm,  at  the  least 
sound,  the  tiger  would  have  throttled  his  prey.  To 
escape  this  hideous  catastrophe,  Don  Luis  must  take  him 
by  surprise  and  then  and  there  deprive  him  of  his  power 
of  action.  He  controlled  himself,  therefore,  and  slowly 
and  cautiously  mounted  the  incline. 

The  path  ran  upward  between  heaps  of  stones  and  fallen 
buildings,  and  among  clumps  of  shrubs  overtopped  by 
beeches  and  oaks.  The  place  was  evidently  the  site  of 
the  old  feudal  castle  which  had  given  the  estate  its  name; 
and  it  was  here,  near  the  top,  that  the  scoundrel  had  se- 
lected one  of  his  retreats. 

The  trail  continued  over  the  trampled  he/bage.  And 
Don  Luis  even  caught  sight  of  something  shining  on  the 
ground,  in  a  tuft  of  grass.  It  was  a  ring,  a  tiny  and  very 
simple  ring,  consisting  of  a  gold  circlet  and  two  small 
pearls,  which  he  had  often  noticed  on  Florence's  finger. 


"THE  SNARE  IS  LAID"  433 

And  the  fact  that  caught  his  attention  was  that  a  blade 
of  grass  passed  and  repassed  and  passed  a  third  time 
through  the  inside  of  the  ring,  like  a  ribbon  that  had  been 
rolled  round  it  deliberately. 

"It's  a  clear  signal,"  said  Perenna  to  himself.  "The 
villain  probably  stopped  here  to  rest;  and  Florence,  bound 
up,  but  with  her  fingers  free,  was  able  to  leave  this  evi- 
dence of  her  passage." 

So  the  girl  still  hoped.  She  expected  assistance.  And 
Don  Luis  reflected  with  emotion  that  it  was  perhaps  to 
him  that  this  last  desperate  appeal  was  addressed. 

Fifty  steps  farther  —  and  this  detail  pointed  to  the 
rather  curious  fatigue  experienced  by  the  scoundrel  — • 
there  was  a  second  halt  and  a  second  clue,  a  flower,  a  field- 
sage,  which  the  poor  little  hand  had  picked  and  plucked 
of  its  petals.  Next  came  the  print  of  the  five  fingers  dug 
into  the  ground,  and  next  a  cross  drawn  with  a  pebble. 
And  in  this  way  he  was  able  to  follow,  minute  by  minute, 
all  the  successive  stages  of  the  horrible  journey. 

The  last  stopping-place  was  near.  The  climb  became 
steeper  and  rougher.  The  fallen  stones  occasioned  more 
frequent  obstacles.  On  the  right  the  Gothic  arches,  the 
remains  of  a  chapel,  stood  out  against  the  blue  sky.  On 
the  left  was  a  strip  of  wall  with  a  mantelpiece  still  cling- 
ing to  it. 

Twenty  steps  farther  Don  Luis  stopped.  He  seemed 
to  hear  something. 

He  listened.  He  was  not  mistaken.  The  sound  was 
repeated,  and  it  was  the  sound  of  laughter.  But  stich  an 
awful  laugh!  A  strident  laugh,  evil  as  the  laughter  of  a 
devil,  and  so  shrill!  It  was  more  like  the  laugh  of  a 
woman,  of  a  madwoman- 


434  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

Again  silence.  Then  another  noise,  the  noise  of  an 
implement  striking  the  ground,  then  silence  again. 

And  this  was  happening  at  a  distance  which  Don  Luis 
estimated  at  a  hundred  yards. 

The  path  ended  in  three  steps  cut  in  the  earth.  At  the 
top  was  a  fairly  large  plateau,  also  encumbered  with 
rubbish  and  ruins.  In  the  centre,  opposite  Don  Luis, 
stood  a  screen  of  immense  laurels  planted  in  a  semicircle. 
The  marks  of  trodden  grass  led  up  to  it. 

Don  Luis  was  a  little  surprised,  for  the  screen  presented 
an  impenetrable  outline.  He  walked  on  and  found  that 
there  had  once  been  a  cutting,  and  that  the  branches  had 
ended  by  meeting  again.  They  were  easy  to  push  aside; 
and  it  was  through  here  that  the  scoundrel  must  have 
passed.  To  all  appearances  he  was  there  now,  at  the 
end  of  his  journey,  not  far  away,  occupied  in  some  sinister 
task. 

Indeed  the  air  was  rent  by  a  chuckle,  so  close  by  that 
Don  Luis  gave  a  start  and  felt  as  if  the  scoundrel  were 
laughing  beforehand  at  his  intervention.  He  remembered 
the  letter  with  the  words  written  in  red  ink: 

There's  still  time,  Lupin.  Retire  from  the  contest.  If  not,  it 
means  your  death,  too.  When  you  think  that  your  object  is 
attained,  when  your  hand  is  raised  against  me  and  you  utter 
words  of  triumph,  at  the  same  moment  the  ground  will  open 
beneath  your  feet.  The  place  of  your  death  is  chosen.  The 
snare  is  laid.  Beware,  Lupin !  j 

The  whole  letter  passed  through  his  brain,  with  its 
formidable  threat.  And  he  felt  a  shiver  of  fear.  But 
no  fear  could  stay  the  man  that  he  was.  He  had  already 


"THE  SNARE  IS  LAID"  435 

taken  hold  of  the  branches  with  his  hands  and  was  clear- 
ing a  way  for  himself. 

He  stopped.  A  last  bulwark  of  leaves  hid  him  from 
sight.  He  pulled  some  of  them  aside  at  the  level  of  his 
eyes. 

And  he  saw     .     .     . 

First  of  all,  he  saw  Florence,  alone  at  this  moment, 
lying  on  the  ground,  bound,  at  thirty  yards  in  front  of 
him;  and  he  at  once  perceived,  to  his  intense  delight,  from 
certain  movements  of  her  head  that  she  was  still  alive. 
He  had  come  in  time.  Florence  was  not  dead.  She  would 
not  die.  That  was  a  certainty  against  which  nothing 
could  prevail.  Florence  would  not  die. 

Then  he  examined  the  things  around.  To  the  right 
and  left  of  where  he  stood  the  screen  of  laurels  curved 
and  embraced  a  sort  of  arena  in  which,  among  yews  that 
had  once  been  clipped  into  cones,  lay  capitals,  columns, 
broken  pieces  of  arches  and  vaults,  obviously  placed  there 
to  adorn  the  formal  garden  that  had  been  laid  out  on  the 
ruins  of  the  ancient  donjon-keep. 

In  the  middle  was  a  small  circular  space  reached  by 
two  narrow  paths,  one  of  which  presented  the  same  traces 
of  trodden  grass  and  was  a  continuation  of  that  by  which 
Don  Luis  had  come,  while  the  other  intersected  the  first  at 
tight  angles  and  joined  the  two  ends  of  the  screen  of  shrubs. 

Opposite  was  a  confused  heap  of  broken  stones  and 
natural  rocks,  cemented  with  clay,  bound  together  by 
the  roots  of  gnarled  trees,  the  whole  forming  at  the  back 
of  the  picture  a  small,  shallow  grotto,  full  of  crevices  that 
admitted  the  light.  The  floor,  which  Don  Luis  could  easily 
distinguish,  consisted  of  three  or  four  flagstones. 

Florence  Levasseur  lay  inside  this  g»otto,  bound  hajid 


436  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

and  foot,  looking  like  the  victim  of  some  mysterious  sacri- 
fice about  to  be  performed  on  the  altar  of  the  grotto,  in  the 
amphitheatre  of  this  old  garden  closed  by  the  wall  of  tall 
laurels  and  overlooked  by  a  pile  of  ancestral  ruins. 

In  spite  of  the  distance,  Don  Luis  was  able  to  make  out 
every  detail  of  her  pale  face.  Though  convulsed  with 
anguish,  it  still  retained  a  certain  serenity,  an  expression 
of  waiting  and  even  of  expectancy,  as  if  Florence,  believ- 
ing, until  the  last  moment,  in  the  possibility  of  a  miracle, 
had  not  yet  relinquished  all  hope  of  life. 

Nevertheless,  though  she  was  not  gagged,  she  did  not 
call  for  help.  Perhaps  she  thought  that  it  was  useless, 
and  that  the  road  which  she  had  strewn  with  the  marks 
of  her  passing  was  more  likely  to  bring  assistance  to  her 
side  than  cries,  which  the  villain  would  soon  have  stifled. 
Strange  to  say,  it  seemed  to  Don  Luis  as  if  the  girl's  eyes 
were  obstinately  fixed  on  the  very  spot  where  he  was  hid- 
ing. Possibly  she  suspected  his  presence.  Possibly  she 
foresaw  his  help. 

Suddenly  Don  Luis  clutched  one  of  his  revolvers  and 
half  raised  his  arm,  ready  to  take  aim.  The  sacrificer, 
the  butcher,  had  just  appeared,  not  far  from  the  altar  on 
which  the  victim  lay. 

He  came  from  between  two  rocks,  of  which  a  busb 
marked  the  intervening  space,  which  apparently  afforded 
but  a  very  low  outlet,  for  he  still  walked  as  though  bent 
double,  with  his  head  bowed  and  his  long  arms  swinging 
so  low  as  to  touch  the  ground. 

He  went  to  the  grotto  and  gave  his  horrible  chuckle : 

"You're  still  there,  I  see,"  he  said.  "No  sign  of  the 
rescuer?  Perseus  is  a  little  late,  I  fear.  He'd  better 
hurry!" 


"THE  SNARE  IS  LAII}"  437 

The  tone  of  his  voice  was  so  shrill  that  Don  Luis  heard 
every  word,  and  so  odd,  so  unhuman,  that  it  gave  him  a 
feeling  of  physical  discomfort.  He  gripped  his  revolver 
tightly,  prepared  to  shoot  at  the  first  suspicious  move- 
ment. 

"He'd  better  hurry!"  repeated  the  scoundrel,  with  a 
laugh.  "If  not,  all  will  be  over  in  five  minutes.  You  see 
that  I'm  a  man  of  method,  eh,  Florence,  my  darling?" 

He  picked  up  something  from  the  ground.  It  was  a 
stick  shaped  like  a  crutch.  He  put  it  under  his  left  arm 
and,  still  bent  in  two,  began  to  walk  like  a  man  who  has 
not  the  strength  to  stand  erect.  Then  suddenly  and  with 
no  apparent  cause  to  explain  his  change  of  attitude,  he 
drew  himself  up  and  used  his  crutch  as  he  would  a  cane. 
He  then  walked  round  the  outside  of  the  grotto,  making 
a  careful  inspection,  the  meaning  of  which  escaped  Don 
Luis  for  the  time. 

He  was  of  a  good  height  in  this  position;  and  Don  Luis 
easily  understood  why  the  driver  of  the  yellow  taxi,  who 
had  seen  him  under  two  such  different  aspects,  was  unable 
to  say  whether  he  was  very  tall  or  very  short. 

But  his  legs,  slack  and  unsteady,  gave  way  beneath 
him,  as  if  any  prolonged  exertion  were  beyond  his  power. 
He  relapsed  into  his  first  attitude. 

The  man  was  a  cripple,  smitten  with  some  disease  that 
affected  his  powers  of  locomotion.  He  was  excessively 
thin.  Don  Luis  also  saw  his  pallid  face,  his  cavernous 
cheeks,  his  hollow  temples,  his  skin  the  colour  of  parch- 
ment: the  face  of  a  sufferer  from  consumption,  a  bloodless 
face. 

When  he  had  finished  his  inspection,  he  came  up  to 
Florence  and  said: 


438  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"Though  you've  been  very  good,  baby,  and  haven't 
screamed  so  far,  we'd  better  take  our  precautions  and  re- 
move any  possibility  of  a  surprise  by  giving  you  a  nice 
little  gag  to  wear,  don't  you  think?" 

He  stooped  over  her  and  wound  a  large  handkerchief 
round  the  lower  part  of  her  face.  Then,  bending  still 
farther  down,  he  began  to  speak  to  her  in  a  very  low  voice, 
talking  almost  into  her  ear.  But  wild  bursts  of  laughter, 
horrible  to  hear,  interrupted  this  whispering. 

Feeling  the  imminence  of  the  danger,  dreading  some 
movement  on  the  wretch's  part,  a  sudden  murderous 
attack,  the  prompt  prick  of  a  poisoned  needle,  Don  Luis 
had  levelled  his  revolver  and,  confident  of  his  skill,  waited 
events. 

What  was  happening  over  there?  What  were  the  words 
spoken?  What  infamous  bargain  was  the  villain  propos- 
ing to  Florence?  At  what  shameful  price  could  she  obtain 
her  release? 

The  cripple  stepped  back  angrily,  shouting  in  furious 
accents: 

"But  don't  you  understand  that  you  are  done  for? 
Now  that  I  have  nothing  more  to  fear,  now  that  you  have 
been  silly  enough  to  come  with  me  and  place  yourself  in 
my  power,  what  hope  have  you  left?  To  move  me,  per- 
haps: is  that  it?  Because  I'm  burning  with  passion,  you 

imagine ?  Oh,  you  never  made  a  greater  mistake, 

my  pet!  I  don't  care  a  fig  if  you  do  die.  Once  dead, 
you  cease  to  count.  .  .  . 

"  What  else?  Perhaps  you  consider  that,  being  crippled, 
I  shall  not  have  the  strength  to  kill  you?  But  there's 
no  question  of  my  killing  you,  Florence.  Have  you  ever 
known  me  kill  people?  Never!  I'm  much  too  big  a 


"THE  SNARE  IS  LAID"  439 

coward,  I  should  be  frightened,  I  should  shake  all  over. 
No,  no,  Florence,  I  shan't  touch  you,  and  yet 

"Here,  look  what's  going  to  happen,  see  for  yourself. 
I  tell  you  the  thing's  managed  in  my  own  style. 
And,  whatever  you  do,  don't  be  afraid.     It's  only  a  pre- 
liminary warning." 

He  had  moved  away  and,  helping  himself  with  his 
hands,  holding  on  to  the  branches  of  a  tree,  he  climbed 
up  the  first  layers  of  rock  that  formed  the  grotto  on  the 
right.  Here  he  knelt  down.  There  was  a  small  pick- 
axe lying  beside  him.  He  took  it  and  gave  three  blows 
to  the  nearest  heap  of  stones.  They  came  tumbling  down 
in  front  of  the  grotto. 

Don  Luis  sprang  from  his  hiding-place  with  a  roar  of 
terror.  He  had  suddenly  realized  the  position:  The 
grotto,  the  accumulation  of  boulders,  the  piles  of  granite, 
everything  was  so  placed  that  its  equilibrium  could  be 
shattered  at  any  moment,  and  that  Florence  ran  the  risk 
of  being  buried  under  the  rubbish.  It  was  not  a  ques- 
tion, therefore,  of  slaying  the  villain,  but  of  saving  Flor- 
ence on  the  spot. 

He  was  halfway  across  in  two  or  three  seconds.  But 
here,  in  one  of  those  mental  flashes  which  are  even  quicker 
than  the  maddest  rush,  he  became  aware  that  the  tracks 
of  trampled  grass  did  not  cross  the  central  circus  and  that 
the  scoundrel  had  gone  round  it.  Why?  That  was  one 
of  the  questions  which  instinct,  ever  suspicious,  puts,  but 
which  reason  has  not  the  time  to  answer.  Don  Luis  went 
straight  ahead.  And  he  had  no  sooner  set  foot  on  the 
place  than  the  catastrophe  occurred. 

It  all  happened  with  incredible  suddenness,  as  though 
he  had  tried  to  walk  on  space  and  found  himself  hurled 


440  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

into  it.     The  ground  gave  way  beneath  him.     The  clod 
of  grass  separated,  and  he  fell. 

He  fell  down  a  hole  which  was  none  other  than  the 
mouth  of  a  well  four  feet  wide  at  most,  the  curb  of  which 
had  been  cut  down  level  with  the  ground.  Only  this 
was  what  took  place:  as  he  was  running  very  fast,  hig 
impetus  flung  him  against  the  opposite  wall  in  such  a 
way  that  his  forearms  lay  on  the  outer  ledge  and  his 
hands  were  able  to  clutch  at  the  roots  of  plants. 

So  great  was  his  strength  that  he  might  just  have  been 
able  to  drag  himself  up  by  his  wrists.  But  responding 
to  the  attack,  the  scoundrel  had  at  once  hurried  to  meet 
his  assailant  and  was  now  standing  at  ten  paces  from 
Don  Luis,  threatening  him  with  his  revolver: 

"Don't  move!"  he  cried,  "or  I'll  smash  you!" 

Don  Luis  was  thus  reduced  to  helplessness,  at  the  risk 
of  receiving  the  enemy's  fire. 

Their  eyes  met  for  a  few  seconds.  The  cripple's  were 
burning  with  fever,  like  the  eyes  of  a  sick  man. 

Crawling  along,  watching  Don  Luis's  slightest  move- 
ment, he  came  and  squatted  beside  the  well.  The  re- 
volver was  levelled  in  his  outstretched  hand.  And  his 
infernal  chuckle  rang  out  again: 

"Lupin!  Lupin!  That's  done  it!  Lupin's  dive! 
.  .  .  What  a  mug  you  must  be!  I  warned  you,  you 
know,  warned  you  in  blood-red  ink.  Remember  my 
words:  'The  place  of  your  death  is  chosen.  The  snare  is 
laid.  Beware,  Lupin!'  And  here  you  are!  So  you're 
not  in  prison?  You  warded  off  that  stroke,  you  rogue, 
you!  Fortunately,  I  foresaw  events  and  took  my  pre- 
cautions. What  do  you  say  to  it?  What  do  you  think 
of  my  little  scheme?  I  said  to  myself,  'All  the  police  will 


"THE  SNARE  IS  LAID'*  441 

come  rushing  at  my  heels.  But  there's  only  one  who's 
capable  of  catching  me,  and  that's  Lupin.  So  we'll  show 
him  the  way,  we'll  lead  him  on  the  leash  all  along  a  little 
path  scraped  clean  by  the  victim's  body. 

"  'And  then  a  few  landmarks,  scattered  here  and  there. 
First,  the  fair  damsel's  ring,  with  a  blade  of  grass  twisted 
round  it;  farther  on  a  flower  without  its  petals;  farther 
on  the  marks  of  five  fingers  in  the  ground;  next,  the  sign 
of  the  cross.'  No  mistaking  them,  was  there?  Once  you 
thought  me  fool  enough  to  give  Florence  time  to  play 
Hop-o'-my-Thumb's  game,  it  was  bound  to  lead  you 
straight  to  the  mouth  of  the  well,  to  the  clods  of  turf  which 
I  dabbed  across  it,  last  month,  in  anticipation  of  this  wind- 
fall. 

"Remember:  'The  snare  is  laid.'  And  a  snare  after 
my  own  style,  Lupin;  one  of  the  best!  Oh,  I  love  getting 
rid  of  people  with  their  kind  assistance.  We  work  to- 
gether like  friends  and  partners.  You've  caught  the  no- 
tion, haven't  you? 

"I  don't  do  my  own  job.  The  others  do  it  for  me, 
hanging  themselves  or  giving  themselves  .careless  injec- 
tions —  unless  they  prefer  the  mouth  of  a  well,  as  you 
seem  to  do,  Lupin.  My  poor  old  chap,  what  a  sticky 
mess  you're  in!  I  never  saw  such  a  face,  never,  on  my 
word !  Florence,  do  look  at  the  expression  on  your  swain's 
mobile  features!" 

He  broke  off,  seized  with  a  fit  of  laughter  that  shook 
his  outstretched  arm,  imparted  the  most  savage  look  to 
his  face,  and  set  his  legs  jerking  under  his  body  like  the 
legs  of  a  dancing  doll.  His  enemy  was  growing  weaker 
before  his  eyes.  Don  Luis's  fingers,  which  had  first  gripped 
the  roots  of  the  grass,  were  now  vainly  clutching  the  stones 


442  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

of  the  wall.  And  his  shoulders  were  sinking  lower  and 
lower  into  the  well. 

"We've  done  it!"  spluttered  the  villain,  in  the  midst 
of  his  convulsions  of  merriment.  "Lord,  how  good  it  is 
to  laugh !  Especially  when  one  so  seldom  does.  Yes,  I'm 
a  wet  blanket,  I  am ;  a  first-rate  man  at  a  funeral !  You've 
never  seen  me  laugh,  Florence,  have  you?  But  this  time 
it's  really  too  amusing.  Lupin  in  his  hole  and  Florence 
in  her  grotto;  one  dancing  a  jig  above  the  abyss  and  the 
other  at  her  last  gasp  under  her  mountain.  What  a  sight ! 

"Come,  Lupin,  don't  tire  yourself!  What's  the  use 
of  those  grimaces?  You're  not  afraid  of  eternity,  are  you? 
A  good  man  like  you,  the  Don  Quixote  of  modern  times! 
Come,  let  yourself  go.  There's  not  even  any  water  in  the 
well  to  splash  about  in.  No,  it's  just  a  nice  little  slide 
into  infinity.  You  can't  so  much  as  hear  the  sound  of  a 
pebble  when  you  drop  it  in;  and  just  now  I  threw  a  piece 
of  lighted  paper  down  and  lost  sight  of  it  in  the  dark. 
Brrrr!  It  sent  a  cold  shiver  down  my  back! 

"  Come,  be  a  man.  It'll  only  take  a  moment ;  and  you've 
been  through  worse  than  that!  .  .  .  Good,  you 
yearly  did  it  then.  You're  making  up  your  mind  to  it. 
,  .  .  I  say,  Lupin!  .  .  .  Lupin!  .  .  .  Aren't 
you  going  to  say  good-bye?  Not  a  smile,  not  a  word  of 
thanks?  Au  revoir,  Lupin,  au  revoir 

He  ceased.  He  watched  for  the  appalling  end  which 
he  had  so  cleverly  prepared  and  of  which  all  the  incidents 
were  following  close  on  one  another  in  accordance  with 
his  inflexible  will. 

It  did  not  take  long.  The  shoulders  had  gone  down; 
the  chin;  and  then  the  mouth  convulsed  with  the  death- 
grin;  and  then  the  eyes,  drunk  with  terror;  and  then  the 


"THE  SNARE  IS  LAID"  443 

forehead  and  the  hair:  the  whole  head,  in  short,  had  dis- 
appeared. 

The  cripple  sat  gazing  wildly,  as  though  in  ecstasy, 
motionless,  with  an  expression  of  fierce  delight,  and  with- 
out a  word  that  could  trouble  the  silence  and  interrupt  his 
hatred. 

At  the  edge  of  the  abyss  nothing  remained  but  the 
hands,  the  obstinate,  stubborn,  desperate,  heroic  hands, 
the  poor,  helpless  hands  which  alone  still  lived,  and  which, 
gradually,  retreating  toward  death,  yielded  and  fell  back 
and  let  go. 

The  hands  had  slipped.  £or  a  moment  the  fingers  held 
on  like  claws.  So  natural  was  the  effort  which  they  made 
that  it  looked  as  if  they  did  not  even  yet  despair,  unaided, 
of  resuscitating  and  bringing  back  to  the  light  of  day  the 
corpse  already  entombed  in  the  darkness.  And  then  they 
in  their  turn  gave  way.  And  then  —  and  then,  suddenly, 
there  was  nothing  more  to  be  seen  and  nothing  more  to 
be  heard. 

The  cripple  started  to  his  feet,  as  though  released  by 
a  spring,  and  yelled  with  delight: 

"Oof!  That's  done  it!  Lupin  in  the  bottomless  pit! 
One  more  adventure  finished!  Oof!" 

Turning  in  Florence's  direction,  he  once  more  danced 
his  dance  of  death.  He  raised  himself  to  his  full  height 
and  then  suddenly  crouched  down  again,  throwing  about 
his  legs  like  the  grotesque,  ragged  limbs  of  a  scarecrow. 
And  he  sang  and  whistled  and  belched  forth  insults  and 
hideous  blasphemies. 

Then  he  came  back  to  the  yawning  mouth  of  the  well 
and,  standing  some  way  off,  as  if  still  afraid  to  come  nearer, 
he  spat  into  it  three  times. 


444  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

Nor  was  this  enough  for  his  hatred.  There  were  some 
broken  pieces  of  statuary  on  the  ground.  He  took  a 
carved  head,  rolled  it  along  the  grass,  and  sent  it  crashing 
down  the  well.  A  little  farther  away  was  a  stack  of  old, 
rusty  cannon  balls.  These  also  he  rolled  to  the  edge  and 
pushed  in.  Five,  ten,  fifteen  cannon  balls  went  scooting 
down,  one  after  the  other,  banging  against  the  walls  with 
a  loud  and  sinister  noise  which  the  echo  swelled  into  the 
angry  roar  of  distant  thunder. 

"There,  take  that,  Lupin!  I'm  sick  of  you,  you  dirty 
cad!  That's  for  the  spokes  you  put  in  my  wheel,  over 
that  damned  inheritance!  .  .  .  Here,  take  this,  too! 
.  .  .  And  this!  .  .  .  And  this!  .  .  .  Here's 
a  chocolate  for  you  in  case  you're  hungry.  .  .  .  Do 
you  want  another?  Here  you  are,  old  chap!  catch!" 

He  staggered,  seized  with  a  sort  of  giddiness,  and  had 
to  squat  on  his  haunches.  He  was  utterly  spent.  How- 
ever, obeying  a  last  convulsion,  he  still  found  the  strength 
to  kneel  down  by  the  well,  and  leaning  over  the  darkness, 
he  stammered,  breathlessly: 

"Hi!  I  say!  Corpse!  Don't  go  knocking  at  the  gate 
of  hell  at  once!  .  .  .  The  little  girl's  joining  you  in 
twenty  minutes.  .  .  .  Yes,  that's  it,  at  four  o'clock. 
.  .  .  You  know  I'm  a  punctual  man  and  keep  my 
appointments  to  the  minute.  .  .  .  She'll  be  with  you 
at  four  o'clock  exactly. 

"By  the  way,  I  was  almost  forgetting:  the  inheritance 
—  you  know,  Mornington's  hundred  millions  —  well, 
that's  mine.  Why,  of  course!  You  can't  doubt  that  I 
took  all  my  precautions !  Florence  will  explain  everything 
presently.  .  .  .  It's  very  well  thought  out  —  you'll 
flee  —  you'll  see " 


"THE  SNARE  IS  LAID"  445 

He  could  not  get  out  another  word.  The  last  syllables 
sounded  more  like  hiccoughs.  The  sweat  poured  from 
his  hair  and  his  forehead,  and  he  sank  to  the  ground, 
moaning  like  a  dying  man  tortured  by  the  last  throes  of 
death. 

He  remained  like  that  for  some  minutes,  with  his  head 
in  his  hands,  shivering  all  over  his  body.  He  appeared 
to  be  suffering  everywhere,  in  each  anguished  muscle,  in 
each  sick  nerve.  Then,  under  the  influence  of  a  thought 
that  seemed  to  make  him  act  unconsciously,  one  of  his 
hands  crept  spasmodically  down  his  side,  and,  groping, 
uttering  hoarse  cries  of  pain,  he  managed  to  take  from  his 
pocket  and  put  to  his  lips  a  phial  out  of  which  he  greedily 
drank  two  or  three  moutlifuls. 

He  at  once  revived,  as  though  he  had  swallowed  warmth 
and  strength.  His  eyes  grew  calmer,  his  mouth  shaped 
itself  into  a  horrible  smile.  He  turned  to  Florence  and 
said : 

"Don't  flatter  yourself ,  pretty  one;  I'm  not  gone  yet, 
and  I've  plenty  of  time  to  attend  to  you.  And  then,  after 
that,  there'll  be  no  more  worries,  no  more  of  that  scheming 
and  fighting  that  wears  one  out.  A  nice,  quiet,  unevent- 
ful life  for  me!  .  .  .  With  a  hundred  millions  one 
can  afford  to  take  life  easy,  eh,  little  girl?  .  .  .  Come 
on,  I'm  feeling  much  better!" 


QHAPTER  TWENTY 

FLORENCE'S  SECRET 

IT  WAS  time  for  the  second  act  of  the  tragedy.  Don 
Luis  Perenna's  death  was  to  be  followed  by  that  of 
Florence.  Like  some  monstrous  butcher,  the  cripple 
passed  from  one  to  the  other  with  no  more  compassion 
than  if  he  were  dealing  with  the  oxen  in  a  slaughter-house. 

Still  weak  in  his  limbs,  he  dragged  himself  to  where 
the  girl  lay,  took  a  cigarette  from  a  gunmetal  case,  and, 
with  a  final  touch  of  cruelty,  said: 

"When  this  cigarette  is  quite  burnt  out,  Florence,  it 
will  be  your  turn.  Keep  your  eyes  on  it.  It  represents 
the  last  minutes  of  your  life  reduced  to  ashes.  Keep  your 
eyes  on  it,  Florence,  and  think. 

"I  want  you  to  understand  this:  all  the  owners  of  the 
estate,  and  old  Langernault  in  particular,  have  always 
considered  that  the  heap  of  rocks  and  stones  overhanging 
your  head  was  bound  to  fall  to  pieces  sooner  or  later. 
And  I  myself,  for  years,  with  untiring  patience,  believing 
in  a  favourable  opportunity,  have  amused  myself  by  mak- 
ing it  crumble  away  still  more,  by  undermining  it  with 
the  rain  water,  in  short,  by  working  at  it  in  such  a  way 
that,  upon  my  word,  I  can't  make  out  how  the  thing  keeps 
standing  at  all.  Or,  rather,  I  do  understand. 

"The  few  strokes  with  the  pickaxe  which  I  gave  it  just 
now  were  merely  intended  for  a  warning.  But  I  have 


FLORENCE'S  SECRET  447 

only  to  give  one  more  stroke  in  the  right  place,  and  knock 
out  a  little  brick  wedged  in  between  two  lumps  of  stone, 
for  the  whole  thing  to  tumble  to  the  ground  like  a  house 
of  cards. 

"A  little  brick,  Florence,"  he  chuckled,  "a  tiny  little 
brick  which  chance  placed  there,  between  two  blocks  of 
stone,  and  has  kept  in  position  until  now.  Out  comes 
the  brick,  down  come  the  blocks,  and  there's  your  catas- 
trophe!" 

He  took  breath  and  continued: 

"After  that?  After  that,  Florence,  this:  either  the 
smash  will  take  place  in  such  a  way  that  your  body  will 
not  even  be  in  sight,  if  any  one  should  dream  of  coming 
here  to  look  for  you,  or  else  it  will  be  partly  visible,  in 
which  case  I  shall  at  once  cut  and  destroy  the  cords  with 
which  you  are  tied. 

"What  will  the  law  think  then?  Simply  that  Florence 
Levasseur,  a  fugitive  from  justice,  hid  herself  in  a  grotto 
which  fell  upon  her  and  crushed  her.  That's  all.  A  few 
prayers  for  the  rash  creature's  soul,  and  not  another  word. 

"As  for  me  —  as  for  me,  when  my  work  is  done  and 
my  sweetheart  dead  —  I  shall  pack  my  traps,  carefully 
remove  all  the  traces  of  my  coming,  smooth  every  inch 
of  the  trampled  grass,  jump  into  my  motor  car,  sham 
death  for  a  little  while,  and  then  put  in  a  sensational  claim 
for  the  hundred  millions." 

He  gave  a  little  chuckle,  took  two  or  three  puffs  at  his 
cigarette,  and  added,  calmly: 

"I  shall  claim  the  hundred  millions  and  I  shall  get  them. 
That's  the  prettiest  part  of  it.  I  shall  claim  them  be- 
cause I'm  entitled  to  them;  and  I  explained  to  you  just 
now,  before  Master  Lupin  came  interfering,  how,  from 


448  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

the  moment  that  you  were  dead,  I  had  the  most  undenia- 
ble legal  right  to  them.  And  I  shall  get  them,  because 
it  is  physically  impossible  to  bring  up  the  least  sort  of 
proof  against  me." 

He  moved  closer. 

"There's  not  a  charge  that  can  hurt  me.  Suspicions, 
yes,  moral  presumptions,  clues,  anything  you  like,  but 
not  a  scrap  of  material  evidence.  Nobody  knows  me. 
One  person  has  seen  me  as  a  tall  man,  another  as  a  short 
man.  My  very  name  is  unknown.  All  my  murders  have 
been  committed  anonymously.  All  my  murders  are  more 
like  suicides,  or  can  be  explained  as  suicides. 

"I  tell  you  the  law  is  powerless.  With  Lupin  dead, 
and  Florence  Levasseur  dead,  there's  no  one  to  bear 
witness  against  me.  Even  if  they  arrested  me,  they 
would  have  to  discharge  me  in  the  end  for  lack  of  evidence. 
I  shall  be  branded,  execrated,  hated,  and  cursed;  my  name 
will  stink  in  people's  nostrils,  as  if  I  were  the  greatest  of 
malefactors.  But  I  shall  possess  the  hundred  millions ;  and 
with  that,  pretty  one,  I  shall  possess  the  friendship  of  all 
decent  men! 

"I  tell  you  again,  with  Lupin  and  you  gone,  it's  all  over. 
There's  nothing  left,  nothing  but  some  papers  and  a  few 
little  things  which  I  have  been  weak  enough  to  keep  until 
now,  in  this  pocketbook  here,  and  which  would  be  enough 
and  more  than  enough  to  cost  me  my  head,  if  I  did  not 
intend  to  burn  them  in  a  few  minutes  and  send  the  ashes 
to  the  bottom  of  the  well. 

"So  you  see,  Florence,  all  my  measures  are  taken. 
You  need  not  hope  for  compassion  from  me,  nor  for  help 
from  anywhere  else,  since  no  one  knows  where  I  have 
brought  you,  and  Arsene  Lupin  is  no  longer  alive.  Under 


FLORENCE'S  SECRET  449 

these  conditions,  Florence,  make  your  choice.  The  end- 
ing is  in  your  own  hands:  either  you  die,  absolutely  and 
irrevocably,  or  you  accept  my  love." 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence,  then: 

"Answer  me  yes  or  no.  A  movement  of  your  head  will 
decide  your  fate.  If  it's  no,  you  die.  If  it's  yes,  I  shall 
release  you.  We  will  go  from  here  and,  later,  when  your 
innocence  is  proved  —  and  I'll  see  to  that  —  you  shall 
become  my  wife.  Is  the  answer  yes,  Florence?" 

He  put  the  question  to  her  with  real  anxiety  and  with  a 
restrained  passion  that  set  his  voice  trembling.  His 
knees  dragged  over  the  flagstones.  He  begged  and  threat- 
ened, hungering  to  be  entreated  and,  at  the  same  time, 
almost  eager  for  a  refusal,  so  great  was  his  natural  mur- 
derous impulse. 

"Is  it  yes,  Florence?  A  nod,  the  least  little  nod,  and 
I  shall  believe  you  implicitly,  for  you  never  lie  and  your 
promise  is  sacred.  Is  it  yes,  Florence?  Oh,  Florence, 
answer  me !  It  is  madness  to  hesitate.  Your  life  depends 
on  a  fresh  outburst  of  my  anger.  Answer  me!  Here, 
look,  my  cigarette  is  out.  I'm  throwing  it  away,  Florence. 
A  sign  of  your  head:  is  the  answer  yes  or  no?" 

He  bent  over  her  and  shook  her  by  the  shoulders,  as  if 
to  force  her  to  make  the  sign  which  he  asked  for.  But 
suddenly  seized  with  a  sort  of  frenzy,  he  rose  to  his  feet 
and  exclaimed: 

"She's  crying!  She's  crying!  She  dares  to  weep! 
But,  wretched  girl,  do  you  think  that  I  don't  know  what 
you're  crying  for?  I  know  your  secret,  pretty  one,  and  I 
know  that  your  tears  do  not  come  from  any  fear  of  dying. 
You?  Why,  you  fear  nothing!  No,  it's  something  else! 
Shall  I  tell  you  your  secret?  Oh,  I  can't,  I  can't  — • 


450  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

though  the  words  scorch  my  lips.  Oh,  cursed  woman, 
you've  brought  it  on  yourself!  You  yourself  want  to  die, 
Florence,  as  you're  crying  —  you  yourself  want  to 
die " 

While  he  was  speaking  he  hastened  to  get  to  work  and 
prepare  the  horrible  tragedy.  The  leather  pocketbook 
which  he  had  mentioned  as  containing  the  papers  was 
lying  on  the  ground;  he  put  it  hi  his  pocket.  Then,  still 
trembling,  he  pulled  off  his  jacket  and  threw  it  on  the 
nearest  bush.  Next,  he  took  up  the  pickaxe  and  climbed 
the  lower  stones,  stamping  with  rage  and  shouting: 

"It's  you  who  have  asked  to  die,  Florence!  Nothing 
can  prevent  it  now.  I  can't  even  see  your  head,  if  you 
make  a  sign.  It's  too  late!  You  asked  for  it  and  you've 
got  it!  Ah,  you're  crying!  You  dare  to  cry!  What 
madness!" 

He  was  standing  almost  above  the  grotto,  on  the  right. 
His  anger  made  him  draw  himself  to  his  full  height.  He 
looked  horrible,  hideous,  atrocious.  His  eyes  filled  with 
blood  as  he  inserted  the  bar  of  the  pickaxe  between  the 
two  blocks  of  granite,  at  the  spot  where  the  brick  was 
wedged  in.  Then,  standing  on  one  side,  in  a  place  of 
safety,  he  struck  the  brick,  struck  it  again.  At  the  third 
stroke  the  brick  flew  out. 

What  happened  was  so  sudden,  the  pyramid  of  stones 
and  rubbish  came  crashing  with  such  violence  into  the 
hollow  of  the  grotto  and  in  front  of  the  grotto,  that  the 
cripple  himself,  in  spite  of  his  precautions,  was  dragged 
down  by  the  avalanche  and  thrown  upon  the  grass.  It 
was  not  a  serious  fall,  however,  and  he  picked  himself  up 
at  once,  stammering: 

"  Florence !     Florence ! ' ' 


FLORENCE'S  SECRET  451 

Though  he  had  so  carefully  prepared  the  catastrophe, 
and  brought  it  about  with  such  determination,  its  results 
seemed  suddenly  to  stagger  him.  He  hunted  for  the  girl 
with  terrified  eyes.  He  stooped  down  and  crawled  round 
the  chaos  shrouded  in  clouds  of  dust.  He  looked  through 
the  interstices.  He  saw  nothing. 

Florence  was  buried  under  the  ruins,  dead,  invisible,  as 
he  had  anticipated. 

"Dead!"  he  said,  with  staring  eyes  and  a  look  of 
stupor  on  his  face.  "Dead!  Florence  is  dead!" 

Once  again  he  lapsed  into  a  state  of  absolute  prostra- 
tion, which  gradually  slackened  his  legs,  brought  him  to 
the  ground  and  paralyzed  him.  His  two  efforts,  following 
so  close  upon  each  other  and  ending  in  disasters  of  which 
he  had  been  the  immediate  witness,  seemed  to  have  robbed 
him  of  all  his  remaining  energy. 

With  no  hatred  in  him,  since  Arsene  Lupin  no  longer 
lived,  with  no  love,  since  Florence  was  no  more,  he  looked 
like  a  man  who  has  lost  his  last  motive  for  existence. 

Twice  his  lips  uttered  the  name  of  Florence.  Was  he 
regretting  his  friend?  Having  reached  the  last  of  that 
appalling  series  of  crimes,  was  he  imagining  the  several 
stages,  each  marked  with  a  corpse?  Was  something  like  a 
conscience  making  itself  felt  deep  down  in  that  brute?  Or 
was  it  not  rather  the  sort  of  physical  torpor  that  numbs 
the  sated  beast  of  prey,  glutted  with  flesh,  drunk  with 
blood,  a  torpor  that  is  almost  voluptuousness? 

Nevertheless,  he  once  more  repeated  Florence's  name, 
and  tears  rolled  down  his  cheeks. 

He  lay  long  in  this  condition,  gloomy  and  motionless; 
and  when,  after  again  taking  a  few  sips  of  his  medicine, 
he  went  back  to  his  work,  he  did  so  mechanically,  with 


452  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

none  of  that  gayety  which  had  made  him  hop  on  his  legs 
and  set  about  his  murder  as  though  he  were  going  to  a 
pleasure  party. 

He  began  by  returning  to  the  bush  from  which  Lupin 
had  seen  him  emerge.  Behind  this  bush,  between  two 
trees,  was  a  shelter  containing  tools  and  arms,  spades, 
rakes,  guns,  and  rolls  of  wire  and  rope. 

Making  several  journeys,  he  carried  them  to  the  well, 
intending  to  throw  them  down  it  before  he  went  away. 
He  next  examined  every  particle  of  the  little  mound  up 
which  he  had  climbed,  in  order  to  make  sure  that  he  was 
not  leaving  the  least  trace  of  his  passage. 

He  made  a  similar  examination  of  those  parts  of  the 
lawn  on  which  he  had  stepped,  except  the  path  leading 
to  the  well,  the  inspection  of  which  he  kept  for  the  last. 
He  brushed  up  the  trodden  grass  and  carefully  smoothed 
the  trampled  earth. 

He  was  obviously  anxious  and  seemed  to  be  thinking 
of  other  things,  while  at  the  same  time  mechanically  doing 
those  things  which  a  murderer  knows  by  force  of  habit 
that  it  is  wise  to  do. 

One  little  incident  seemed  to  wake  him  up.  A  wounded 
swallow  fell  to  the  ground  close  by  where  he  stood.  He 
stooped,  caught  it,  and  crushed  it  in  his  hands,  kneading 
it  like  a  scrap  of  crumpled  paper.  And  his  eyes  shone 
with  a  savage  delight  as  he  gazed  at  the  blood  that  trickled 
from  the  poor  bird  and  reddened  his  hands. 

But,  when  he  flung  the  shapeless  little  body  into  a 
furze  bush,  he  saw  on  the  spikes  in  the  bush  a  hair,  a  long, 
fair  hair;  and  all  his  depression  returned  at  the  memory 
of  Florence. 

He  knelt  in  front  of  the  mined  grotto.    Then,  breaking 


FLORENCE'S  SECRET  453 

two  sticks  of  wood,  he  placed  the  pieces  in  the  form  of  a 
cross  under  one  of  the  stones. 

As  he  was  bending  over,  a  little  looking-glass  slipped 
from  his  waistcoat  pocket  and,  striking  a  pebble,  broke. 
This  sign  of  ill  luck  made  a  great  impression  on  him.  He 
cast  a  suspicious  look  around  him  and,  shivering  with 
nervousness,  as  though  he  felt  threatened  by  the  invisible 
powers,  he  muttered: 

"I'm  afraid  —  I'm  afraid.     Let's  go  away " 

His  watch  now  marked  half-past  four.  He  took  his 
jacket  from  the  shrub  on  which  he  had  hung  it,  slipped 
his  arms  into  the  sleeves,  and  put  his  hand  in  the  right- 
hand  outside  pocket,  where  he  had  placed  the  pocketbook 
containing  his  papers : 

"Hullo!"  he  said,  in  great  surprise.  "I  was  sure  I 
had " 

He  felt  in  the  left  outside  pocket,  then  in  the  handker- 
chief-pocket, then,  with  feverish  excitement,  in  both  the 
inside  pockets.  The  pocketbook  was  not  there.  And, 
to  his  extreme  amazement,  all  the  other  things  which  he 
was  absolutely  certain  that  he  had  left  in  the  pockets  of 
his  jacket  were  gone :  his  cigarette-case,  his  box  of  matches, 
his  notebook. 

He  was  flabbergasted.  His  features  became  distorted. 
He  spluttered  incomprehensible  words,  while  the  most 
terrible  thought  took  hold  of  his  mind  so  forcibly  as  to 
become  a  reality:  there  was  some  one  within  the  precincts 
of  the  Old  Castle. 

There  was  some  one  within  the  precincts  of  the  Old 
Castle !  And  this  some  one  was  now  hiding  near  the  ruins, 
in  the  ruins  perhaps!  And  this  some  one  had  seen  him! 
And  this  some  one  had  witnessed  the  death  of  Arsene 


454  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

Lupin  and  the  death  of  Florence  Levasseur!  And  this 
some  one,  taking  advantage  of  his  heedlessness  and  know- 
ing from  his  words  that  the  papers  existed,  had  searched 
his  jacket  and  rifled  the  pockets! 

His  eyes  expressed  the  alarm  of  a  man  accustomed  to 
work  in  the  darkness  unperceived,  and  who  suddenly  be- 
comes aware  that  another's  eyes  have  surprised  him  at 
his  hateful  task  and  that  he  is  being  watched  in  every 
movement  for  the  first  time  in  his  life. 

Whence  did  that  look  come  that  troubled  him  as  the 
daylight  troubles  a  bird  of  the  night?  Was  it  an  intruder 
hiding  there  by  accident,  or  an  enemy  bent  upon  his 
destruction?  Was  it  an  accomplice  of  Arsene  Lupin,  a 
friend  of  Florence,  one  of  the  police?  And  was  this  ad- 
versary satisfied  with  his  stolen  booty,  or  was  he  prepar- 
ing to  attack  him? 

The  cripple  dared  not  stir.  He  was  there,  exposed  to 
assault,  on  open  ground,  with  nothing  to  protect  him 
against  the  blows  that  might  come  before  he  even  knew 
where  the  adversary  was. 

At  last,  however,  the  imminence  of  the  danger  gave 
him  back  some  of  his  strength.  Still  motionless,  he  in- 
spected his  surroundings  with  an  attention  so  keen  that 
it  seemed  as  if  no  detail  could  escape  him.  He  would 
have  sighted  the  most  indistinct  shape  among  the  stones 
of  the  ruined  pile,  or  in  the  bushes,  or  behind  the  tall 
laurel  screen. 

Seeing  nobody,  he  came  along,  supporting  himself  on 
his  crutch.  He  walked  without  the  least  sound  of  his 
feet  or  of  the  crutch,  which  probably  had  a  rubber  shoe 
at  the  end  of  it.  His  raised  right  hand  held  a  revolver. 
His  finger  was  on  the  trigger.  The  least  effort  of  his  will, 


FLORENCE'S  SECRET  455 

or  even  less  than  that,  a  spontaneous  injunction  of  his 
instinct,  was  enough  to  put  a  bullet  into  the  enemy. 

He  turned  to  the  left.  On  this  side,  between  the  ex- 
treme end  of  the  laurels  and  the  first  fallen  rocks,  there 
was  a  little  brick  path  which  was  more  likely  the  top  of  a 
buried  wall.  The  cripple  followed  this  path,  by  which 
the  enemy  might  have  reached  the  shrub  on  which  the 
jacket  hung  without  leaving  any  traces. 

The  last  branches  of  the  laurels  were  in  his  way,  and 
he  pushed  them  aside.  There  was  a  tangled  mass  of 
bushes.  To  avoid  this,  he  skirted  the  foot  of  the  mound, 
after  which  he  took  a  few  more  steps,  going  round  a  huge 
rock.  And  then,  suddenly,  he  started  back  and  almost 
lost  his  balance,  while  his ,  crutch  fell  to  the  ground  and 
his  revolver  slipped  from  his  hand. 

What  he  had  seen,  what  he  saw,  was  certainly  the  most 
terrifying  sight  that  he  could  possibly  have  beheld.  Op- 
posite him,  at  ten  paces  distance,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  his  feet  crossed,  and  one  shoulder  resting  lightly 
against  the  rocky  wall,  stood  not  a  man :  it  was  not  a  man, 
and  could  not  be  a  man,  for  this  man,  as  the  cripple 
knew,  was  dead,  had  died  the  death  from  which  there  is 
no  recovery.  It  was  therefore  a  ghost;  and  this  appari- 
tion from  the  tomb  raised  the  cripple's  terror  to  its  highest 
pitch. 

He  shivered,  seized  with  a  fresh  attack  of  fever  and 
Weakness.  His  dilated  pupils  stared  at  the  extraordinary 
phenomenon.  His  whole  being,  filled  with  demoniacal 
superstition  and  dread,  crumpled  up  under  the  vision  to 
which  each  second  lent  an  added  horror. 

Incapable  of  flight,  incapable  of  defence,  he  dropped 
upon  his  knees.  And  he  could  not  take  his  eyes  from 


456  THE  TEETH  OP  THE  TIGER 

that  dead  man,  whom  hardly  an  hour  before  he  had  buried 
in  the  depths  of  a  well,  under  a  shroud  of  iron  and  granite. 

Arsene  Lupin's  ghost! 

A  man  you  take  aim  at,  you  fire  at,  you  kill.  But  a 
ghost!  A  thing  which  no  longer  exists  and  which  never* 
theless  disposes  of  all  the  supernatural  powers!  What 
was  the  use  of  struggling  against  the  infernal  machina- 
tions of  that  which  is  no  more?  What  was  the  use  of 
picking  up  the  fallen  revolver  and  levelling  it  at  the  in- 
tangible spirit  of  Arsene  Lupin? 

And  he  saw  an  incomprehensible  thing  occur:  the  ghost 
took  its  hands  out  of  its  pockets.  One  of  them  held  a 
tigarette-case;  and  the  cripple  recognized  the  same  gun- 
metal  case  for  which  he  had  hunted  in  vain.  There  was 
therefore  not  a  doubt  left  that  the  creature  who  had  ran- 
sacked the  jacket  was  the  very  same  who  now  opened 
the  case,  picked  out  a  cigarette  and  struck  a  match  taken 
from  a  box  which  also  belonged  to  the  cripple! 

O  miracle!  A  real  flame  came  from  the  match!  O 
incomparable  marvel!  Clouds  of  smoke  rose  from  the 
cigarette,  real  smoke,  of  which  the  cripple  at  once  knew 
the  particular  smell ! 

He  hid  his  head  in  his  hands.  He  refused  to  see  more. 
Whether  ghost  or  optical  illusion,  an  emanation  from 
another  world,  or  an  image  born  of  his  remorse  and 
proceeding  from  himself,  it  should  torture  his  eyes  no 
longer. 

But  he  heard  the  sound  of  a  step  approaching  him, 
growing  more  and  more  distinct  as  it  came  closer!  He 
felt  a  strange  presence  moving  near  him!  An  arm  was 
stretched  out!  A  hand  fell  on  his  shoulder!  That  hand 
clutched  his  flesh  with  an  irresistible  grip !  And  he  heard 


FLORENCE'S  SECRET  457 

words  spoken  by  a  voice  which,  beyond  mistake,  was  the 
human  and  living  voice  of  Arsene  Lupin! 

"Why,  my  dear  sir,  what  a  state  we're  getting  ourselves 
into!  Of  course,  I  understand  that  my  sudden  return 
seems  an  unusual  and  even  an  inconvenient  proceeding, 
but  still  it  does  not  do  to  be  so  uncontrollably  impressed. 
Men  have  seen  much  more  extraordinary  things  than  that, 
such  as  Joshua  staying  the  sun,  and  more  sensational  dis- 
asters, such  as  the  Lisbon  earthquake  of  1755. 

"The  wise  man  reduces  events  to  their  proper  propor- 
tions and  judges  them,  not  by  their  action  upon  his  own 
destiny,  but  by  the  way  in  which  they  influence  the  for- 
tunes of  the  world.  Now  confess  that  your  little  mishap 
is  purely  individual  and  does  not  affect  the  equilibrium 
of  the  solar  system.  You  know  what  Marcus  Aurelius 
says,  on  page  84,  of  Charpentier's  edition " 

The  cripple  had  plucked  up  courage  to  raise  his  head; 
and  the  real  state  of  things  now  became  so  obviously  ap- 
parent that  he  could  no  longer  get  away  from  the  un- 
deniable fact :  Arsene  Lupin  was  not  dead !  Arsene  Lupin 
whom  he  had  hurled  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth  and 
crushed  as  surely  as  an  insect  is  crushed  with  a  hammer; 
Arsene  Lupin  was  not  dead! 

How  to  explain  so  astounding  a  mystery  the  cripple 
did  not  even  stop  to  wonder.  One  thing  alone  mattered: 
Arsene  Lupin  was  not  dead.  Arsene  Lupin  looked  and 
spoke  as  a  living  man  does.  Arsene  Lupin  was  not  dead. 
He  breathed,  he  smiled,  he  talked,  he  lived ! 

And  it  was  so  certainly  life  that  the  scoundrel  saw  be- 
fore him  that,  obeying  a  sudden  impulse  of  his  nature 
and  of  his  hatred  for  life,  he  flattened  himself  to  his  full 
length,  reached  his  revolver,  seized  it,  and  fired. 


458  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

He  fired;  but  it  was  too  late.  Don  Luis  had  caused 
the  weapon  to  swerve  with  a  kick  of  his  boot,  Another 
kick  sent  it  flying  out  of  the  cripple's  hand. 

The  villain  ground  his  teeth  with  fury  and  at  once 
began  hurriedly  to  fumble  in  his  pockets. 

"Is  this  what  you're  looking  for,  sir?"  asked  Don  Luis, 
holding  up  a  hypodermic  syringe  filled  with  a  yellow 
fluid.  "Excuse  me,  but  I  was  afraid  lest  you  should 
prick  yourself  by  mistake.  That  would  have  been  a  fatal 
prick,  would  it  not?  And  I  should  never  have  forgiven 
myself." 

The  cripple  was  disarmed.  He  hesitated  for  a  moment, 
surprised  that  the  enemy  did  not  attack  him  more  vio- 
lently, and  sought  to  profit  by  the  delay.  His  small, 
blinking  eyes  wandered  around  him,  looking  for  something 
to  throw.  But  an  idea  seemed  to  strike  him  and  to  restore 
his  confidence  little  by  little;  and,  in  a  new  and  really  un- 
expected fit  of  delight,  he  indulged  in  one  of  his  loudest 
chuckles : 

"And  what  about  Florence?"  he  shouted.  "Don't 
forget  Florence!  For  I've  got  you  there!  I  can  miss 
you  with  my  revolver  and  you  can  steal  my  poison;  but 
I  have  another  means  of  hitting  you,  right  in  the  heart. 
You  can't  live  without  Florence,  can  you?  Florence's 
death  means  your  own  sentence,  doesn't  it?  If  Florence 
is  dead,  you'll  put  the  rope  round  your  own  neck,  won't 
you,  won't  you,  won't  you?" 

"Yes.  If  Florence  were  to  die,  I  could  not  survive 
her!" 

"She  is  dead!"  cried  the  scoundrel,  with  a  renewed 
burst  of  merriment,  hopping  about  on  his  knees.  "She's 
dead,  quite,  quite  dead !  What  am  I  saying?  She's  more 


FLORENCE'S  SECRET  459 

than  dead!  A  dead  person  retains  the  appearance  of  a 
live  one  for  a  time;  but  this  is  much  better:  there's  no 
corpse  here,  Lupin;  just  a  mess  of  flesh  and  bone! 

"The  whole  scaffolding  of  rocks  has  come  down  on  top 
of  her!  You  can  picture  it,  eh?  What  a  sight!  Come, 
quick,  it's  your  turn  to  kick  the  bucket.  Would  you  like 
a  length  of  rope?  Ha,  ha,  ha!  It's  enough  to  make  one 
die  with  laughing.  Didn't  I  say  that  you'd  meet  at  the 
gates  of  hell?  Quick,  your  sweetheart's  waiting  for  you. 
Do  you  hesitate?  Where's  your  old  French  politeness? 
You  can't  keep  a  lady  waiting,  you  know.  Hurry  up, 
Lupin!  Florence  is  dead!" 

He  said  this  with  real  enjoyment,  as  though  the  mere 
word  of  death  appeared  to  him  delicious. 

Don  Luis  had  not  moved  a  muscle.  He  simply  nodded 
his  head  and  said: 

"What  a  pity!" 

The  cripple  seemed  petrified.  All  his  joyous  contor- 
tions, all  his  triumphal  pantomime,  stopped  short.  He 
blurted  out: 

"Eh?    What  did  you  say?" 

"I  say,"  declared  Don  Luis,  preserving  his  calm  and 
courteous  demeanour  and  refraining  from  echoing  the 
cripple's  familiarity,  "I  say,  my' dear  sir,  that  you  have 
done  very  wrong.  I  never  met  a  finer  nature  nor  one 
more  worthy  of  esteem  than  that  of  Mile.  Levasseur.  The 
incomparable  beauty  of  her  face  and  figure,  her  youth, 
her  charm,  all  these  deserved  a  better  treatment.  It 
would  indeed  be  a  matter  for  regret  if  such  a  masterpiece 
of  womankind  had  ceased  to  be." 

The  cripple  remained  astounded.  Don  Luis's  serene 
manner  dismayed  him.  He  said,  in  a  blank  voice: 


460  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

"I  tell  you,  she  has  ceased  to  be.  Haven't  you  seen 
the  grotto?  Florence  no  longer  exists!" 

"I  refuse  to  believe  it,"  said  Don  Luis  quietly.  "If 
that  were  so,  everything  would  look  different.  The  sky 
would  be  clouded;  the  birds  would  not  be  singing;  and 
nature  would  wear  her  mourning  garb.  But  the  birds 
are  singing,  the  sky  is  blue,  everything  is  as  it  should  be: 
the  honest  man  is  alive;  and  the  rascal  is  crawling  at  his 
feet.  How  could  Florence  be  dead?" 

A  long  silence  followed  upon  these  words.  The  two 
enemies,  at  three  paces  distance,  looked  into  each  other's 
eyes:  Don  Luis  still  as  cool  as  ever,  the  cripple  a  prey  to 
the  maddest  anguish.  The  monster  understood.  Ob- 
scure as  the  truth  was,  it  shone  forth  before  him  with  all 
the  light' of  a  blinding  certainty:  Florence  also  was  alive! 
Humanly  and  physically  speaking,  the  thing  was  not 
possible;  but  the  resurrection  of  Don  Luis  was  likewise 
an  impossibility;  and  yet  Don  Luis  was  alive,  with  not  a 
scratch  on  his  face,  with  not  a  speck  of  dust  on  his  clothes. 

The  monster  felt  himself  lost.  The  man  who  held  him 
in  the  hollow  of  his  implacable  hand  was  one  of  those 
men  whose  power  knows  no  bounds.  He  was  one  of 
those  men  who  escape  from  the  jaws  of  death  and  who 
triumphantly  snatch  from  death  those  of  whom  they 
have  taken  charge. 

The  monster  retreated,  dragging  himself  slowly  back- 
ward on  his  knees  along  the  little  brick  path. 

He  retreated.  He  passed  by  the  confused  heap  of  stones 
that  covered  the  place  where  the  grotto  had  been,  and 
did  not  turn  his  eyes  in  that  direction,  as  if  he  were  defi- 
nitely convinced  that  Florence  had  come  forth  safe  and 
sound  from  the  appalling  sepulchre. 


FLORENCE'S  SECRET  461 

He  retreated.  Don  Luis,  who  no  longer  had  his  eyes 
fixed  on  him,  was  busy  unwinding  a  coil  of  rope  which  he 
had  picked  up,  and  seemed  to  pay  no  further  attention  to 
him. 

He  retreated. 

And  suddenly,  after  a  glance  at  his  enemy,  he  spun 
round,  drew  himself  up  on  his  slack  legs  with  an  effort, 
and  started  running  toward  the  well. 

He  was  twenty  paces  from  it.  He  covered  one  half, 
three  quarters  of  the  distance.  Already  the  mouth 
opened  before  him.  He  put  out  his  arms,  with  the  move- 
ment of  a  man  about  to  dive,  and  shot  forward. 

His  rush  was  stopped.  He  rolled  over  on  the  ground, 
dragged  back  violently,  with  his  arms  fixed  so  firmly  to 
his  body  that  he  was  unable  to  stir. 

It  was  Don  Luis,  who  had  never  wholly  lost  sight  of 
him,  who  had  made  a  slip-knot  to  his  rope  and  who  had 
lassoed  the  cripple  at  the  moment  when  he  was  going  to 
fling  himself  down  the  abyss.  The  cripple  struggled  for 
a  few  moments.  But  the  slip-knot  bit  into  his  flesh.  He 
ceased  moving.  Everything  was  over. 

Then  Don  Luis  Perenna,  holding  the  other  end  of  the 
lasso,  came  up  to  him  and  bound  him  hand  and  foot  with 
what  remained  of  the  rope.  The  operation  was  carefully 
performed.  Don  Luis  repeated  it  time  after  time,  using 
the  coils  of  rope  which  the  cripple  had  brought  to  the  well 
and  gagging  him  with  a  handkerchief.  And,  while  apply- 
ing himself  to  his  work,  he  explained,  with  affected  po- 
liteness: 

"You  see,  sir,  people  always  come  to  grief  through  ex- 
cessive self-confidence.  They  never  imagine  that  their 
adversaries  can  have  resources  which  they  themselves 


462  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

do  not  possess.  For  instance,  when  you  got  me  to  fall 
into  your  trap,  how  could  you  have  supposed,  my  dear 
sir,  that  a  man  like  myself,  a  man  like  Arsene  Lupin, 
hanging  on  the  brim  of  a  well,  with  his  arms  resting  on 
the  brim  and  his  feet  against  the  inner  wall,  would  allow 
himself  to  drop  down  it  like  the  first  silly  fool  that  comes 
along? 

"Look  here:  you  were  fifteen  or  twenty  yards  away; 
and  do  you  think  that  I  had  not  the  strength  to  leap  out 
nor  the  courage  to  face  the  bullets  of  your  revolver,  when 
it  was  a  question  of  saving  Florence  Levasseur's  life  and 
my  own?  Why,  my  poor  sir,  the  tiniest  effort  would  have 
been  enough,  believe  me! 

"My  reason  for  not  making  the  effort  was  that  I  had 
something  better  to  do,  something  infinitely  better.  I 
will  tell  you  why,  that  is,  if  you  care  to  know.  Do  you? 

"Well,  then,  at  the  very  first  moment,  my  knees  and 
feet,  propped  against  the  inner  wall,  had  smashed  in  a 
thick  layer  of  plaster  which  closed  up  an  old  excavation 
in  the  well;  and  this  I  at  once  perceived.  It  was  a  stroke 
of  luck,  wasn't  it?  And  it  changed  the  whole  situation. 
My  plan  was  settled  at  once.  While  I  went  on  acting 
my  little  part  of  the  gentleman  about  to  tumble  down 
an  abyss,  putting  on  the  most  scared  face,  the  most  staring 
eyes,  the  most  hideous  grin,  I  enlarged  that  excavation, 
taking  care  to  throw  the  chunks  of  plaster  in  front  of  me 
in  such  a  way  that  their  fall  made  no  noise.  When  the 
moment  came,  at  the  very  second  when  my  swooning 
features  vanished  before  your  eyes,  I  simply  jumped  into 
my  retreat,  thanks  to  a  rather  plucky  little  wriggle  of  the 
loins. 

"I  was  saved,  because  the  retreat  was  dug  out  on  the 


FLORENCE'S  SECRET  463 

side  where  you  were  moving  and  because,  being  dark 
itself,  it  cast  no  light.  All  that  I  now  had  to  do  was  to 
wait. 

"I  listened  quietly  to  your  threatening  speeches.  I 
let  the  things  you  flung  down  the  well  go  past  me.  And, 
when  I  thought  you  had  gone  back  to  Florence,  I  was 
preparing  to  leave  my  refuge,  to  return  to  the  light  of 
day,  and  to  fall  upon  you  from  behind,  when " 

Don  Luis  turned  the  cripple  over,  as  though  he  were  a 
parcel  which  he  was  tying  up  with  string,  and  continued: 

"Have  you  ever  been  to  Tancarville,  the  old  feudal 
castle  in  Normandy,  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine?  Haven't 
you?  Well,  you  must  know  that,  outside  the  ruins  of 
the  keep,  there  is  an  old  well  which,  like  many  other  wells 
of  the  period,  possesses  the  peculiarity  of  having  two 
openings,  one  at  the  top,  facing  the  sky,  and  the  other  a 
little  lower  down,  hollowed  out  sideways  in  the  wall  and 
leading  to  one  of  the  rooms  of  the  keep. 

"At  Tancarville  this  second  opening  is  nowadays  closed 
with  a  grating.  Here  it  was  walled  up  with  a  layer  of 
small  stones  and  plaster.  And  it  was  just  the  recollec- 
tion of  Tancarville  that  made  me  stay,  all  the  more  as 
there  was  no  hurry,  since  you  had  had  the  kindness  to 
inform  me  that  Florence  would  not  join  me  in  the  next 
world  until  four  o'clock.  I  therefore  inspected  my  refuge 
and  soon  realized  that,  as  I  had  already  felt  by  intuition, 
it  was  the  foundation  of  a  building  which  was  now  de- 
molished and  which  had  the  garden  laid  out  on  its  ruins. 

"Well,  I  went  on,  groping  my  way  and  following  the 
direction  which,  above  ground,  would  have  taken  me 
to  the  grotto.  My  presentiments  were  not  deceived.  A 
gleam  of  daylight  made  its  way  at  the  top  of  a  staircase 


464  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

of  which  I  had  struck  the  bottom  step.  I  Trent  up  it  and 
heard  the  sound  of  your  voice." 

Don  Luis  turned  the  cripple  over  and  over  and  was 
pretty  rough  about  it.  Then  he  resumed: 

"I  wish  to  impress  upon  you,  my  dear  sir,  that  the 
upshot  would  have  been  exactly  similar  if  I  had  attacked 
you  directly  and  from  the  start  in  the  open  air.  But, 
having  said  this,  I  confess  that  chance  favoured  me  to 
some  purpose.  It  has  often  failed  me,  in  the  course  of 
our  struggle,  but  this  time  I  had  no  cause  to  complain. 

"I  felt  myself  in  such  luck  that  I  never  doubted  for  a 
second  that,  having  found  the  entrance  to  the  subterra- 
nean passage,  I  should  also  find  the  way  out.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  I  had  only  to  pull  gently  at  the  slight  obstacle 
of  a  few  stacked  bricks  which  hid  the  opening  in  order 
to  make  my  exit  amid  the  remains  of  the  castle  keep. 

"  Guided  by  the  sound  of  your  voice,  I  slipped  through 
the  stones  and  thus  reached  the  back  of  the  grotto  in 
which  Florence  lay.  Amusing,  wasn't  it? 

"You  can  imagine  what  fun  it  was  to  hear  you  make 
your  little  speeches:  'Answer  me,  yes  or  no,  Florence.  A 
movement  of  your  head  will  decide  your  fate.  If  it's  yes, 
I  shall  release  you.  If  it's  no,  you  die.  Answer  me, 
Florence!  A  sign  of  your  head:  is  the  answer  yes  or  no?' 
And  the  end,  above  all,  was  delicious,  when  you  scrambled 
to  the  top  of  the  grotto  and  started  roaring  from  up  there: 
'It's  you  who  have  asked  to  die,  Florence.  You  asked 
for  it  and  you've  got  it ! ' 

"Just  think  what  a  joke  it  was:  at  that  moment  there 
was  no  one  in  the  grotto!  Not  a  soul!  With  one  effort, 
I  had  drawn  Florence  toward  me  and  put  her  under  shelter. 
And  all  that  you  were  able  to  crush  with  your  avalanche 


FLORENCE'S  SECRET  465 

of  rocks  was  one  or  two  spiders,  perhaps,  and  a  few  flies 
dozing  on  the  flagstones. 

"The  trick  was  done  and  the  farce  was  nearly  finished. 
Act  first:  Arsene  Lupin  saved.  Act  second:  Florence 
Levasseur  saved.  Act  third  and  last:  the  monster  van- 
quished .  .  .  absolutely  and  with  a  vengeance!" 

Don  Luis  stood  up  and  contemplated  his  work  with 
a  satisfied  eye. 

"You  look  like  a  sausage,  my  son!"  he  cried,  yielding 
at  last  to  his  sarcastic  nature  and  his  habit  of  treating  his 
enemies  familiarly.  "A  regular  sausage!  A  bit  on  the 
thin  side,  perhaps:  a  saveloy  for  poor  people!  But  there, 
you  don't  much  care  what  you  look  like,  I  suppose?  Be- 
sides, you're  rather  like  that  at  all  times;  and,  in  any  case, 
you're  just  the  thing  for  the  little  display  of  indoor  gym- 
nastics which  I  have  in  mind  for  you.  You'll  see:  it's 
an  idea  of  my  own,  a  really  original  idea.  Don't  be  im- 
patient: we  shan't  be  long." 

He  took  one  of  the  guns  which  the  cripple  had  brought 
to  the  well  and  tied  to  the  middle  of  the  gun  the  end  of  a 
twelve  or  fifteen  yards'  length  of  rope,  fastening  the  other 
end  to  the  cords  with  which  the  cripple  was  bound,  just 
behind  his  back.  He  next  took  his  captive  round  the 
body  and  held  him  over  the  well: 

"Shut  your  eyes,  if  you  feel  at  all  giddy.  And  don't 
be  frightened.  I'll  be  very  careful.  Ready?" 

He  put  the  cripple  down  the  yawning  hole  and  next 
took  hold  of  the  rope  which  he  had  just  fastened.  Then, 
little  by  little,  inch  by  inch,  cautiously,  so  that  it  should 
not  knock  against  the  sides  of  the  well,  the  bundle  was 
let  down  at  arm's  length. 

When  it  reached  a  depth  of  twelve  yards  or  so,  the  gua 


466  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

stopped  its  further  descent  and  there  it  remained,  slung 
in  the  dark  and  in  the  exact  centre  of  the  narrow  cir- 
cumference. 

Don  Luis  set  light  to  a  number  of  pieces  of  paper,  which 
went  whirling  down,  shedding  their  sinister  gleams  upon 
the  walls.  Then,  unable  to  resist  the  craving  for  a  last 
speech,  he  leaned  over,  as  the  scoundrel  had  done,  and 
grinned: 

"I  selected  the  place  with  care,  so  that  you  shouldn't 
catch  cold.  I'm  bound  to  look  after  you,  you  see.  I 
promised  Florence  that  I  wouldn't  kill  you;  and  I  prom- 
ised the  French  Government  to  hand  you  over  alive  as 
soon  as  possible.  Only,  as  I  didn't  know  what  to  do 
with  you  until  to-morrow  morning,  I've  hung  you  up  in 
the  air. 

"It's  a  pretty  trick,  isn't  it?  And  you  ought  to  appre- 
ciate it,  for  it's  so  like  your  own  way  of  doing  things. 
Just  think:  the  gun  is  resting  on  its  two  ends,  with  hardly 
an  inch  to  spare.  So,  if  you  start  wriggling,  or  moving, 
or  even  breathing  too  hard,  either  the  barrel  or  the  butt 
end  '11  give  way;  and  down  you  go !  As  for  me,  I've  noth- 
ing to  do  with  it! 

"If  you  die,  it'll  be  a  pretty  little  case  of  suicide. 
All  you've  got  to  do,  old  chap,  is  to  keep  quiet.  And 
the  beauty  of  my  little  contrivance  is  that  it  will  give 
you  a  foretaste  of  the  few  nights  that  will  precede  your 
last  hour,  when  they  cut  off  your  head.  From  this  mo- 
ment forward  you  are  alone  with  your  conscience,  face 
to  face  with  what  you  perhaps  call  your  soul,  without 
anything  to  disturb  your  silent  soliloquy.  It's  nice  and 
thoughtful  of  me,  isn't  it? '  .  .  . 

"  Well,  I'll  leave  you.   And  remember :  not  a  movement, 


FLORENCE'S  SECRET  467 

not  a  sigh,  not  a  wink,  not  a  throb  of  the  heart!  And, 
above  all,  no  larks!  If  you  start  larking,  you're  in  the 
soup.  Meditate :  that's  the  best  thing  you  can  do.  Medi- 
tate and  wait.  Good-bye,  for  the  present!" 

And  Don  Luis,  satisfied  with  his  homily,  went  off,  mut- 
tering: 

"That's  all  right.  I  won't  go  so  far  as  Eugene  Sue, 
who  says  that  great  criminals  should  have  their  eyes 
put  out.  But,  all  the  same,  a  little  corporal  punishment, 
nicely  seasoned  with  fear,  is  right  and  proper  and  good 
for  the  health  and  morals." 

Don  Luis  walked  away  and,  taking  the  brick  path 
round  the  ruins,  turned  down  a  little  road,  which  ran 
along  the  outer  wall  to  a  clump  of  fir  trees,  where  he  had 
brought  Florence  for  shelter. 

She  was  waiting  for  him,  still  aching  from  the  horrible 
suffering  which  she  had  endured,  but  already  in  full  pos- 
session of  her  pluck,  mistress  of  herself,  and  apparently  rid 
of  all  anxiety  as  to  the  issue  of  the  fight  between  Don  Luis 
and  the  cripple. 

"It's  finished,"  he  said,  simply.  "To-morrow  I  will 
hand  him  over  to  the  police." 

She  shuddered.  But  she  did  not  speak;  and  he  ob- 
served her  in  silence. 

It  was  the  first  time  that  they  were  alone  together  since 
they  had  been  separated  by  so  many  tragedies,  and  next 
hurled  against  each  other  like  sworn  enemies.  Don  Luis 
was  so  greatly  excited  that,  in  the  end,  he  could  utter 
only  insignificant  sentences,  having  no  connection  with 
the  thoughts  that  came  rushing  through  his  mind. 

"We  shall  find  the  motor  car  if  we  follow  this  wall  and 
then  strike  off  to  the  left.  .  .  .  Do  you  think  you 


468  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

can  manage  to  walk  so  far?  .  .  .  When  we're  in  the 
car,  we'll  go  to  Alencon.  There's  a  quiet  hotel  close  to 
the  chief  square.  You  can  wait  there  until  things  take 
a  more  favourable  turn  for  you  —  and  that  won't  be  long, 
as  the  criminal  is  caught." 

"Let's  go,"  she  said. 

He  dared  not  offer  to  help  her.  For  that  matter,  she 
stepped  out  firmly  and  her  graceful  body  swung  from  her 
hips  with  the  same  even  rhythm  as  usual.  Don  Luis 
once  again  felt  all  his  old  admiration  and  all  his  ardent 
love  for  her.  And  yet  that  had  never  seemed  more  re- 
mote than  at  this  moment  when  he  had  saved  her  life  by 
untold  miracles  of  energy. 

She  had  not  vouchsafed  him  a  word  of  thanks  nor  yet 
one  of  those  milder  glances  which  reward  an  effort  made; 
and  she  remained  the  same  as  on  the  first  day,  the  mys- 
terious creature  whose  secret  soul  he  had  never  understood, 
and  upon  whom  not  even  the  storm  of  terrible  events 
had  cast  the  faintest  light. 

What  were  her  thoughts?  What  were  her  wishes? 
What  aim  was  she  pursuing?  These  were  obscure  problems 
which  he  could  no  longer  hope  to  solve.  Henceforth  each 
of  them  must  go  his  own  way  in  life  and  each  of  them  could 
only  remember  the  other  with  feelings  of  anger  and  spite. 

"No!"  he  said  to  himself,  as  she  took  her  place  in  the 
limousine.  "No!  The  separation  shall  not  take  place 
like  that.  The  words  that  have  to  be  spoken  between  us 
shall  be  spoken;  and,  whether  she  wishes  or  not,  I  will 
tear  the  veil  that  hides  her." 

The  journey  did  not  take  long.  At  Alengon  Don  Luis 
entered  Florence  in  the  visitors'  book  under  the  first  name 


FLORENCE'S  SECRET  469 

that  occurred  to  him  and  left  her  to  herself.  An  hour 
later  he  came  and  knocked  at  her  door. 

This  time  again  he  had  not  the  courage  at  once  to  ask 
her  the  question  which  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  put 
to  her.  Besides,  there  were  other  points  which  he  wished 
to  clear  up. 

"Florence,"  he  said,  "before  I  hand  over  that  man,  I 
should  like  to  know  what  he  was  to  you." 

"A  friend,  an  unhappy  friend,  for  whom  I  felt  pity,'* 
she  declared.  "I  find  it  difficult  to-day  to  understand 
my  compassion  for  such  a  monster.  But,  some  years  ago, 
when  I  first  met  him,  I  became  attached  to  him  because 
of  his  wretchedness,  his  physical  weakness,  and  all  the 
symptoms  of  death  which  he  bore  upon  him  even  then. 
He  had  the  opportunity  of  doing  me  a  few  services;  and, 
though  he  led  a  hidden  life,  which  worried  me  in  certain 
respects,  he  gradually  and  without  my  knowing  it  acquired 
a  considerable  influence  over  me. 

"I  believed  in  his  insight,  in  his  will,  in  his  absolute 
devotion;  and,  when  the  Mornington  case  started,  it  was 
he,  as  I  now  realize,  who  guided  my  actions  and,  later, 
those  of  Gaston  Sauverand.  It  was  he  who  compelled 
me  to  practise  lying  and  deceit,  persuading  me  that  he 
was  working  for  Marie  Fauville's  safety.  It  was  he  who 
inspired  us  with  such  suspicion  of  yourself  and  who 
taught  us  to  be  so  silent,  where  he  and  his  affairs  were 
concerned,  that  Gaston  Sauverand  did  not  even  dare 
mention  him  in  his  interview  with  you. 

"I  don't  know  how  I  can  have  been  so  blind.  But  it 
was  so.  Nothing  opened  my  eyes.  Nothing  made  me 
suspect  for  a  moment  that  harmless,  ailing  creature,  who 
spent  half  his  life  in  hospitals  or  nursing-homes,  who 


470  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

underwent  every  possible  sort  of  operation,  and  who,  if 
lie  did  sometimes  speak  to  me  of  his  love,  must  have 
known  that  he  could  not  hope  to " 

Florence  did  not  finish  her  sentence.  Her  eyes  had 
encountered  Don  Luis's  eyes;  and  she  received  a  deep 
impression  that  he  was  not  listening  to  what  she  said. 
He  was  looking  at  her;  and  that  was  all.  The  words  she 
uttered  passed  unheard. 

To  Don  Luis  any  explanation  concerning  the  tragedy 
itself  mattered  nothing,  so  long  as  he  was  not  enlightened 
on  the  one  point  that  interested  him,  on  Florence's  pri- 
vate thoughts  about  himself,  thoughts  of  aversion,  of  con- 
tempt. Outside  that,  anything  that  she  could  say  was 
vain  and  tedious. 

He  went  up  to  her  and,  in  a  low  voice,  said: 

"Florence,  you  know  what  I  feel  for  you,  do  you  not?" 

She  blushed,  taken  aback,  as  though  the  question  was 
the  very  last  that  she  expected  to  hear.  Nevertheless,  she 
did  not  lower  her  eyes,  and  she  answered  frankly: 

"Yes,  I  know." 

"But,  perhaps,"  he  continued,  more  eagerly,  "you  do 
not  know  how  deeply  I  feel  it?  Perhaps  you  do  not  know 
that  my  life  has  no  other  aim  but  you?" 

"I  know  that  also,"  she  said. 

"Then,  if  you  know  it,"  he  said,  "I  must  conclude  that 
it  was  just  that  which  caused  your  hostility  to  me.  From 
the  beginning  I  tried  to  be  your  friend  and  I  tried  only  to 
defend  you.  And  yet  from  the  beginning  I  felt  that  for 
you  I  was  the  object  of  an  aversion  that  was  both  in- 
stinctive and  deliberate.  Never  did  I  see  in  your  eyes 
anything  but  coldness,  dislike,  contempt,  and  even  re- 
pulsion. 


FLORENCE'S  SECRET  471 

"At  moments  of  danger,  when  your  life  or  your  liberty 
was  at  stake,  you  risked  committing  any  imprudence 
rather  than  accept  my  assistance.  I  was  the  enemy,  the 
man  to  be  distrusted,  the  man  capable  of  every  infamy, 
the  man  to  be  avoided,  and  to  be  thought  of  only  with  a 
sort  of  dread.  Isn't  that  hatred?  Is  there  anything  but 
hatred  to  explain  such  an  attitude?" 

Florence  did  not  answer  at  once.  She  seemed  to  be 
putting  off  the  moment  at  which  to  speak  the  words  that 
rose  to  her  lips.  Her  face,  thin  and  drawn  with  weariness 
and  pain,  was  gentler  than  usual. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "there  are  other  things  than  hatred 
to  explain  that  attitude." 

Don  Luis  was  dumfounded.  He  did  not  quite  under- 
stand the  meaning  of  the  reply;  but  Florence's  tone  of 
voice  disconcerted  him  beyond  measure,  and  he  also  saw 
that  Florence's  eyes  no  longer  wore  their  usual  scornful 
expression  and  that  they  were  filled  with  smiling  charm. 
And  it  was  the  first  time  that  Florence  had  smiled  in  his 
presence. 

"Speak,  speak,  I  entreat  you!"  he  stammered. 

"I  mean  to  say  that  there  is  another  feeling  which 
explains  coldness,  mistrust,  fear,  and  hostility.  It  is  not 
always  those  whom  we  detest  that  we  avoid  with  the 
greatest  fear;  and,  if  we  avoid  them,  it  is  often  because 
we  are  afraid  of  ourselves,  because  we  are  ashamed,  be- 
cause we  rebel  and  want  to  resist  and  want  to  forget  and 
cannot " 

She  stopped;  and,  when  he  wildly  stretched  out  his 
arms  to  her,  as  if  beseeching  her  to  say  more  and  still  more, 
she  nodded  her  head,  thus  telling  him  that  she  need  not 
go  on  speaking  for  him  to  read  to  the  very  bottom  of 


472  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

her  soul  and  discover  the  secret  of  love  which  she  kept 
hidden  there. 

Don  Luis  staggered  on  his  feet.  He  was  intoxicated 
with  happiness,  almost  suffered  physical  pain  from  that 
unexpected  happiness.  After  the  horrible  minutes  through 
which  he  had  passed  amid  the  impressive  surroundings 
of  the  Old  Castle,  it  appeared  to  him  madness  to  admit 
that  such  extraordinary  bliss  could  suddenly  blossom 
forth  in  the  commonplace  setting  of  that  room  at  a  hotel. 

He  could  have  longed  for  space  around  him,  forest, 
mountains,  moonlight,  a  radiant  sunset,  all  the  beauty 
and  all  the  poetry  of  the  earth.  With  one  rush,  he  had 
reached  the  very  acme  of  happiness.  Florence's  very  life 
came  before  him,  from  the  instant  of  their  meeting  to  the 
tragic  moment  when  the  cripple,  bending  over  her  and 
seeing  her  eyes  filled  with  tears,  had  shouted: 

"She's  crying!  She's  crying!  What  madness!  But  I 
know  your  secret,  Florence !  And  you're  crying !  Florence, 
Florence,  you  yourself  want  to  die!" 

It  was  a  secret  of  love,  a  passionate  impulse  which,  from 
the  first  day,  had  driven  her  all  trembling  toward  Don 
Luis.  Then  it  had  bewildered  her,  filled  her  with  fear, 
appeared  to  her  as  a  betrayal  of  Marie  and  Sauverand 
and,  by  turns  urging  her  toward  and  drawing  her  away 
from  the  man  whom  she  loved  and  whom  she  admired 
for  his  heroism  and  loyalty,  rending  her  with  remorse 
and  overwhelming  her  as  though  it  were  a  crime,  had 
ended  by  delivering  her,  feeble  and  disabled,  to  the  dia-« 
bolical  influence  of  the  villain  who  coveted  her. 

Don  Luis  did  not  know  what  to  do,  did  not  know  in 
what  words  to  express  his  rapture.  His  lips  trembled. 
His  eyes  filled  with  tears.  His  nature  prompted  him  to 


FLORENCE'S  SECRET  473 

take  her  in  his  arms,  to  kiss  her  as  a  child  kisses,  full  on 
the  lips,  with  a  full  heart.  But  a  feeling  of  intense  respect 
paralyzed  his  yearning.  And,  overcome  with  emotion,  he 
fell  at  Florence's  feet,  stammering  words  of  love  and  adora- 
tion. 


CHAPTER  TWENTY-ONE 

LUPIN'S  LUPINS 

NEXT  morning,  a  little  before  eight  o'clock,  Valen- 
glay  was  talking  in  his  own  flat  to  the  Prefect  of 
Police,  and  asked: 

"So  you  think  as  I  do,  my  dear  Prefect?  He'll 
come?" 

"I  haven't  the  least  doubt  of  it,  Monsieur  le  President. 
And  he  will  come  with  the  same  punctuality  that  has  been 
shown  throughout  this  business.  He  will  come,  for 
pride's  sake,  at  the  last  stroke  of  eight." 

"You  think  so?" 

"Monsieur  le  President,  I  have  been  studying  the  man 
for  months.  As  things  now  stand,  with  Florence  Levas- 
seur's  life  in  the  balance,  if  he  has  not  smashed  the  villain 
whom  he  is  hunting  down,  if  he  does  not  bring  him  back 
bound  hand  and  foot,  it  will  mean  that  Florence  Levas- 
seur  is  dead  and  that  he,  Arsene  Lupin,  is  dead." 

"Whereas  Lupin  is  immortal,"  said  Valenglay,  laugh- 
ing. "You're  right.  Besides,  I  agree  with  you  entirely. 
No  one  would  be  more  astonished  than  I  if  our  good  friend 
was  not  here  to  the  minute.  You  say  you  were  rung  up 
from  Angers  yesterday?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  President.  My  men  had  just  seen 
Don  Luis  Perenna.  He  had  gone  in  front  of  them,  in  an 
aeroplane.  After  that,  they  telephoned  to  me  again  from 

474 


LUPIN'S  LUPINS  475 

Le  Mans,  where  they  had  been  searching  a  deserted  coach- 
house. 

"You  may  be  sure  that  the  search  had  already  been 
made  by  Lupin,  and  that  we  shall  know  the  results, 
Listen:  eight  o'clock !" 

At  the  same  moment  they  heard  the  throbbing  of  a 
motor  car.  It  stopped  outside  the  house;  and  the  bell 
rang  almost  immediately  after.  Orders  had  been  given 
beforehand.  The  door  opened  and  Don  Luis  Perenna  was 
shown  in. 

To  Valenglay  and  the  Prefect  of  Police  his  arrival  was 
certainly  not  unexpected,  for  they  had  just  been  saying 
that  they  would  have  been  surprised  if  he  had  not  come. 
Nevertheless,  their  attitude  showed  that  astonishment 
which  we  all  experience  in  the  face  of  events  that  seem  to 
pass  the  bounds  of  human  possibility. 

"Well?"  cried  the  Prime  Minister  eagerly. 

"It's  done,  Monsieur  le  President." 

"Have  you  collared  the  scoundrel?" 

"Yes." 

"By  Jove!"  said  Valenglay.  "You're  a  fine  fellow!'* 
And  he  went  on  to  ask,  "An  ogre,  of  course?  An  evil, 
undaunted  brute? 

"No,  Monsieur  le  President,  a  cripple,  a  degenerate, 
responsible  for  his  actions,  certainly,  but  a  man  in  whom 
the  doctors  will  find  every  form  of  wasting  illness :  disease 
of  the  spinal  cord,  tuberculosis,  and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

"And  is  that  the  man  whom  Florence  Levasseur  loved?'' 

"  Monsieur  le  President! "  Don  Luis  violently  protested* 
"Florence  never  loved  that  wretch!  She  felt  sorry  for 
him,  as  any  one  would  for  a  fellow-creature  doomed  to  an 
early  death;  and  it  was  out  of  pity  that  she  allowed  him 


476  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

to  hope  that  she  might  marry  him  later,  at  some  time  in 
the  vague  future." 

"Are  you  sure  of  that?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  President,  of  that  and  of  a  good  deal 
more  besides,  for  I  have  the  proofs  in  my  hands."  With- 
out further  preamble,  he  continued:  "Monsieur  le  Presi- 
dent, now  that  the  man  is  caught,  it  will  be  easy  for  the 
police  to  find  out  every  detail  of  his  life.  But  meanwhile 
I  can  sum  up  that  monstrous  life  for  you,  looking  only 
at  the  criminal  side  of  it,  and  passing  briefly  over  three 
murders  which  have  nothing  to  do  with  the  story  of  the 
Mornington  case. 

"Jean  Vernocq  was  born  at  Alengon  and  brought  up 
at  old  M.  Langernault's  expense.  He  got  to  know  the 
Dedessuslamare  couple,  robbed  them  of  their  money  and, 
before  they  had  time  to  lodge  a  complaint  against  the 
unknown  thief,  took  them  to  a  barn  in  the  village  of 
Damigni,  where,  in  their  despair,  stupefied  and  besotted 
with  drugs,  they  hanged  themselves. 

"This  barn  stood  in  a  property  called  the  Old  Castle, 
belonging  to  M.  Langernault,  Jean  Vernocq's  protector, 
who  was  ill  at  the  time.  After  his  recovery,  as  he  was 
cleaning  his  gun,  he  received  a  full  charge  of  shot  in  the 
abdomen.  The  gun  had  been  loaded  without  the  old 
fellow's  knowledge.  By  whom?  By  Jean  Vernocq,  who 
had  also  emptied  his  patron's  cash  box  the  night  be- 
fore .  .  . 

"In  Paris,  where  he  went  to  enjoy  the  little  fortune 
which  he  had  thus  amassed,  Jean  Vernocq  bought  from 
some  rogue  of  his  acquaintance  papers  containing  evidence 
of  Florence  Levasseur's  birth  and  of  her  right  to  all  the 
inheritance  of  the  Roussel  family  and  Victor  Sauverand, 


LUPIN'S  LUPINS  477 

papers  which  the  friend  in  question  had  purloined  from 
the  old  nurse  who  brought  Florence  over  from  America. 
By  hunting  around,  Jean  Vernocq  ended  by  discovering 
first  a  photograph  of  Florence  and  then  Florence  her- 
self. 

"He  made  himself  useful  to  her  and  pretended  to  be 
devoted  to  her,  giving  up  his  whole  life  to  her  service. 
At  that  time  he  did  not  yet  know  what  profit  he  could 
derive  from  the  papers  stolen  from  the  girl  or  from  his 
relations  with  her. 

"Suddenly  everything  became  different.  An  indis^ 
creet  word  let  fall  by  a  solicitor's  clerk  told  him  of  a  will 
in  Maitre  Lepertuis's  drawer  which  would  be  interesting 
to  look  at.  He  obtained  a  sight  of  it  by  bribing  the  clerk, 
who  has  since  disappeared,  with  a  thousand-franc  note. 
The  will,  as  it  happened,  was  Cosmo  Mornington's;  and 
in  it  Cosmo  Mornington  bequeathed  his  immense  wealth 
to  the  heirs  of  the  Roussel  sisters  and  of  Victor  Sauve- 
rand  .... 

"Jean  Vernocq  saw  his  chance.  A  hundred  million 
francs !  To  get  hold  of  that  sum,  to  obtain  riches,  luxury, 
power,  and  the  means  of  buying  health  and  strength  from 
the  world's  great  healers,  all  that  he  had  to  do  was  first 
to  put  away  the  different  persons  who  stood  between  the 
inheritance  and  Florence,  and  then,  when  all  the  obstacles 
were  overcome,  to  make  Florence  his  wife. 

"Jean  Vernocq  went  to  work.  He  had  found  among 
the  papers  of  Hippolyte  Fauville's  old  friend  Langernault 
particulars  relating  to  the  Roussel  family  and  to  the  dis- 
cord that  reigned  in  the  Fauville  household.  Five  per- 
sons, all  told,  were  in  his  way:  first,  of  course,  Cosmo 
Mornington;  next,  in  the  order  of  their  claims,  Hippolyte 


478  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

Fauville,  his  son  Edmond,  his  wife  Marie,  and  his  cousin 
Gaston  Sauverand. 

"With  Cosmo  Mornington,  the  thing  was  easy  enough. 
Introducing  himself  to  the  American  as  a  doctor,  Jean 
Vernocq  put  poison  into  one  of  the  phials  which  Morning- 
ton  used  for  his  hypodermic  injections. 

"But  in  the  case  of  Hippolyte  Fauville,  whose  good 
will  he  had  secured  through  his  acquaintance  with  old 
Langernault,  and  over  whose  mind  he  soon  obtained  an 
extraordinary  influence,  he  had  a  greater  difficulty  to  con- 
tend with.  Knowing  on  the  one  hand  that  the  engineer 
hated  his  wife  and  on  the  other  that  he  was  stricken  with 
a  fatal  disease,  he  took  occasion,  after  the  consultation 
with  the  specialist  in  London,  to  suggest  to  Fauville's 
terrified  brain  the  incredible  plan  of  suicide  of  which  you 
were  subsequently  able  to  trace  the  Machiavellian  exe- 
cution. 

"In  this  way  and  with  a  single  effort,  anonymously,  so 
to  speak,  and  without  appearing  in  the  business,  without 
Fauville's  even  suspecting  the  action  brought  to  bear 
upon  him,  Jean  Vernocq  procured  the  deaths  of  Fauville 
and  his  son,  and  got  rid  of  Marie  and  Sauverand  by  the 
devilish  expedient  of  causing  the  charge  of  murder,  of 
which  no  one  could  accuse  him,  to  fall  upon  them.  The 
plan  succeeded. 

"There  was  only  one  hitch  at  the  present  time:  the 
intervention  of  Inspector  Verot.  Inspector  Verot  died. 
And  there  was  only  one  danger  in  the  future:  the  inter- 
vention of  myself,  Don  Luis  Perenna,  whose  conduct 
Vernocq  was  bound  to  foresee,  as  I  was  the  residuary 
legatee  by  the  terms  of  Cosmo  Mornington's  will.  This 
danger  Vernocq  tried  to  avert  first  by  giving  me  the  house 


LUPIN'S  LUPINS  479 

on  the  Place  du  Palais-Bourbon  to  live  in  and  Florence 
Levasseur  as  a  secretary,  and  next  by  making  four  at- 
tempts to  have  me  assassinated  by  Gaston  Sauverand. 

"He  therefore  held  all  the  threads  of  the  tragedy  in  his 
hands.  Able  to  come  and  go  as  he  pleased  in  my  house, 
enforcing  himself  upon  Florence  and  later  upon  Gaston 
Sauverand  by  the  strength  of  his  will  and  the  cunning 
of  his  character,  he  was  within  sight  of  the  goal. 

"When  my  efforts  succeeded  in  proving  the  innocence 
of  Marie  Fauville  and  Gaston  Sauverand,  he  did  not  hesi- 
tate: Marie  Fauville  died;  Gaston  Sauverand  died. 

"So  everything  was  going  well  for  him.  The  police 
pursued  me.  The  police  pursued  Florence.  No  one  sus- 
pected him.  And  the  date  fixed  for  the  payment  of  the 
inheritance  was  at  hand. 

"This  was  two  days  ago.  At  that  time,  Jean  Vernocq 
was  in  the  midst  of  the  fray.  He  was  ill  and  had  obtained 
admission  to  the  nursing-home  in  the  Avenue  des  Ternes. 
From  there  he  conducted  his  operations,  thanks  to  his  in- 
fluence over  Florence  Levasseur  and  to  the  letters  ad- 
dressed to  the  mother  superior  from  Versailles.  Acting 
under  the  superior's  orders  and  ignorant  of  the  meaning 
of  the  step  which  she  was  taking,  Florence  went  to  the 
meeting  at  the  Prefect's  office,  and  herself  brought  the 
documents  relating  to  her. 

"Meanwhile,  Jean  Vernocq  left  the  private  hospital 
and  took  refuge  near  the  He  Saint-Louis,  where  he  awaited 
the  result  of  an  enterprise  which,  at  the  worst,  might  tell 
against  Florence,  but  which  did  not  seem  able  to  com- 
promise him  in  any  case. 

"You  know  the  rest,  Monsieur  le  President,"  said  Don 
Luis,  concluding  his  statement.  "Florence,  staggered  by 


480  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

the  sudden  revelation  of  the  part  which  she  had  un* 
consciously  taken  in  the  matter,  and  especially  by  the 
terrible  part  played  by  Jean  Vernocq,  ran  away  from  the 
nursing-home  where  the  Prefect  had  brought  her  at  my 
request.  She  had  but  one  thought:  to  see  Jean  Ver- 
nocq, demand  an  explanation  of  him,  and  hear  what  he  had 
to  say  in  his  defence.  That  same  evening  he  carried  her 
away  by  motor,  on  the  pretence  of  giving  her  proofs 
of  his  innocence.  That  is  all,  Monsieur  le  President." 

Valenglay  had  listened  with  growing  interest  to  this 
gruesome  story  of  the  most  malevolent  genius  conceivable 
to  the  mind  of  man.  And  he  heard  it  perhaps  without  too 
great  disgust,  because  of  the  light  which  it  threw  by  con- 
trast upon  the  bright,  easy,  happy,  and  spontaneous  genius 
of  the  man  who  had  fought  for  the  good  cause. 

"And  you  found  them?"  he  asked. 

"At  three  o'clock  yesterday  afternoon,  Monsieur  le 
President.  It  was  time.  I  might  even  say  that  it  was  too 
late,  for  Jean  Vernocq  began  by  sending  me  to  the  bottom 
t>f  a  well,  and  by  crushing  Florence  under  a  block  of  stone." 

"Oh,  so  you're  dead,  are  you?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  President." 

"But  why  did  that  villain  want  to  do  away  with  Flor- 
ence Levasseur?  Her  death  destroyed  his  indispensable 
scheme  of  matrimony." 

"It  takes  two  to  get  married,  Monsieur  le  President, 
and  Florence  refused." 
•"Well " 

"Some  time  ago  Jean  Vernocq  wrote  a  letter  leaving 
all  that  he  possessed  to  Florence  Levasseur.  Florence, 
moved  by  pity  for  him,  and  not  realizing  the  importance 
of  what  she  was  doing,  wrote  a  similar  letter  leaving  her 


LUPIN'S  LUPINS  481 

property  to  him.  This  letter  constitutes  a  genuine  and 
indisputable  will  in  favor  of  Jean  Vernocq. 

"As  Florence  was  Cosmo  Mornington's  legal  and  settled 
heiress  by  the  mere  fact  of  her  presence  at  yesterday's 
meeting  with  the  documents  proving  her  descent  from 
the  Roussel  family,  her  death  caused  her  rights  to  pass  to 
her  own  legal  and  settled  heir. 

"Jean  Vernocq  would  have  come  into  the  money  with- 
out the  possibility  of  any  litigation.  And,  as  you  would 
have  been  obliged  to  discharge  him  after  his  arrest,  for 
lack  of  evidence  against  him,  he  would  have  led  a  quiet 
life,  with  fourteen  murders  on  his  conscience  —  I  have 
added  them  up  —  but  with  a  hundred  million  francs  in 
his  pocket.  To  a  monster  of  his  stamp,  the  one  made  up 
for  the  other." 

"But  do  you  possess  all  the  proofs?"  asked  Valenglay 
eagerly. 

"Here  they  are,"  said  Perenna,  producing  the  pocket- 
book  which  he  had  taken  out  of  the  cripple's  jacket. 
"Here  are  letters  and  documents  which  the  villain  pre- 
served, owing  to  a  mental  aberration  common  to  all  great 
criminals.  Here,  by  good  luck,  is  his  correspondence  with 
Hippolyte  Fauville.  Here  is  the  original  of  the  prospectus 
from  which  I  learned  that  the  house  on  the  Place  du 
Palais-Bourbon  was  for  sale.  Here  is  a  memorandum  of 
Jean  Vernocq's  journeys  to  Alengon  to  intercept  Fauville's 
letters  to  old  Langernault. 

"Here  is  another  memorandum  showing  that  Inspector 
Verot  overheard  a  conversation  between  Fauville  and  his 
accomplice,  that  he  shadowed  Vernocq  and  robbed  him 
of  Florence  Levasseur's  photograph,  and  that  Vernocq 
sent  Fauville  in  pursuit  of  him.  Here  is  a  third  memoran- 


482  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

dum,  which  is  just  a  copy  of  the  two  found  in  the  eighth 
volume  of  Shakespeare  and  which  proves  that  Jean  Ver- 
nocq,  to  whom  that  set  of  Shakespeare  belonged,  knew 
all  about  Fauville's  machination.  Here  are  his  corre- 
spondence with  Caceres,  the  Peruvian  attache,  and  the 
letters  denouncing  myself  and  Sergeant  Mazeroux,  which 
he  intended  to  send  to  the  press.  Here 

"But  need  I  say  more,  Monsieur  le  President?  You 
have  the  complete  evidence  in  your  hands.  The  magis- 
trates will  find  that  all  the  accusations  which  I  made 
yesterday,  before  the  Prefect  of  Police,  were  strictly  true." 

"And  he?  "  cried  Valenglay.  "The  criminal?  Where  is 
he?" 

"Outside,  in  a  motor  car,  in  his  motor  car,  rather." 

"Have  you  told  my  men?"  asked  M.  Desmalions  anx- 
iously. 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  Prefet.  Besides,  the  fellow  is  care- 
fully tied  up.  Don't  be  alarmed.  He  won't  escape." 

"Well,  you've  foreseen  every  contingency,"  said  Valen- 
glay, "and  the  business  seems  to  me  to  be  finished.  But 
there's  one  problem  that  remains  unexplained,  the  one 
perhaps  that  interested  the  public  most.  I  mean  the 
marks  of  the  teeth  in  the  apple,  the  teeth  of  the  tiger,  as 
they  have  been  called,  which  were  certainly  Mme.  Fau- 
ville's teeth,  innocent  though  she  was.  Monsieur  le  Pre- 
fet declares  that  you  have  solved  this  problem." 

"Yes,  Monsieur  le  President,  and  Jean  Vernocq's  papers 
prove  that  I  was  right.  Besides,  the  problem  is  quite 
simple.  The  apple  was  marked  with  Mme.  Fauville's 
teeth,  but  Mme.  Fauville  never  bit  the  apple." 

"Come,  come!" 

"Monsieur  le  President,  Hippolyte  Fauville  very  nearly 


,  LUPIN'S  LUPINS  483 

said  as  much  when  he  mentioned  this  mystery  in  his 
posthumous  confession." 

"Hippolyte  Fauville  was  a  madman." 

"Yes,  but  a  lucid  madman  and  capable  of  reasoning 
with  the  most  appalling  logic.  Some  years  ago,  at  Paler- 
mo, Mme.  Fauville  had  a  very  bad  fall,  hitting  her  mouth 
against  the  marble  top  of  a  table,  with  the  result  that  a 
number  of  her  teeth,  in  both  the  upper  and  the  lower 
jaw,  were  loosened.  To  repair  the  damage  and  to  make 
the  gold  plate  intended  to  strengthen  the  teeth,  a  plate 
which  Mme.  Fauville  wore  for  several  months,  the  den- 
tist, as  usual,  took  an  impression  of  her  mouth. 

"M.  Fauville  happened  to  have  kept  the  mould;  and  he 
used  it  to  print  the  marks  of  his  wife's  teeth  in  the  cake 
of  chocolate  shortly  before  his  death  and  in  the  apple  on 
the  night  of  his  death.  When  this  was  done,  he  put  the 
mould  with  the  other  things  which  the  explosion  was  meant 
to,  and  did,  destroy." 

Don  Luis's  explanation  was  followed  by  a  silence.  The 
thing  was  so  simple  that  the  Prime  Minister  was  quite 
astonished.  The  whole  tragedy,  the  whole  charge,  every- 
thing that  had  caused  Marie's  despair  and  death  and  the 
death  of  Gaston  Sauverand :  all  this  rested  on  an  infinitely 
small  detail  which  had  occurred  to  none  of  the  millions 
and  millions  of  people  who  had  interested  themselves  so 
enthusiastically  in  the  mystery  of  the  teeth  of  the 
tiger. 

The  teeth  of  the  tiger!  IJverybody  had  clung  stub- 
bornly to  an  apparently  invincible  argument.  As  the 
marks  on  the  apple  and  the  print  of  Mme.  Fauville's 
teeth  were  identical,  and  as  no  two  persons  in  the  world 
were  able,  in  theory  or  practice,  to  produce  the  same 


484  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

print  with  their  teeth,  Mme.  Fauville  must  needs  be 
guilty. 

Nay,  more,  the  argument  seemed  so  absolute  that, 
from  the  day  on  which  Mme.  Fauville's  innocence  became 
known,  the  problem  had  remained  unsolved,  while  no  one 
seemed  capable  of  conceiving  the  one  paltry  idea:  that 
it  was  possible  to  obtain  the  print  of  a  tooth  in  another 
way  than  by  a  live  bite  of  that  same  tooth ! 

"It's  like  the  egg  of  Columbus,"  said  Valenglay,  laugh- 
ing. "It  had  to  be  thought  of." 

"You  are  right,  Monsieur  le  President.  People  don't 
think  of  those  things.  Here  is  another  instance:  may  I 
remind  you  that  during  the  period  when  Arsene  Lupin  was 
known  at  the  same  time  as  M.  Lenormand  and  as  Prince 
Paul  Sernine,  no  one  noticed  that  the  name  Paul  Sernine 
was  merely  an  anagram  of  Arsene  Lupin?  Well,  it's  just 
the  same  to-day:  Luis  Perenna  also  is  an  anagram  of 
Arsene  Lupin.  The  two  names  are  composed  of  the  same 
eleven  letters,  neither  more  nor  less.  And  yet,  although 
it  was  the  second  time,  nobody  thought  of  making  that 
little  comparison.  The  egg  of  Columbus  again!  It  had 
to  be  thought  of!" 

Valenglay  was  a  little  surprised  at  the  revelation.  It 
seemed  as  if  that  devil  of  a  man  had  sworn  to  puzzle  him 
up  to  the  last  moment  and  to  bewilder  him  by  the  most 
unexpected  sensational  news.  And  how  well  this  last 
detail  depicted  the  fellow,  a  queer  mixture  of  dignity  and 
impudence,  of  mischief  and  simplicity,  of  smiling  chaff 
and  disconcerting  charm,  a  sort  of  hero  who,  while  con- 
quering kingdoms  by  most  incredible  adventures,  amused 
himself  by  mixing  up  the  letters  on  his  name  so  as  to 
catch  the  public  napping! 


LUPIN'S  LUPINS  485 

The  interview  was  nearly  at  an  end.  Valenglay  said  to 
Perenna : 

"Monsieur,  you  have  done  wonders  in  this  busi- 
ness and  ended  by  keeping  your  word  and  handing 
over  the  criminal.  I  also  will  keep  my  word.  You  are 
free." 

"  I  thank  you,  Monsieur  le  President.  But  what  about 
Sergeant  Mazeroux?" 

"He  will  be  released  this  morning.  Monsieur  le  Prefet 
de  Police  has  arranged  matters  so  that  the  public  do  not 
know  of  the  arrest  of  either  of  you.  You  are  Don  Luis 
Perenna.  There  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  remain 
Don  Luis  Perenna." 

"And  Florence  Levasseur,  Monsieur  le  President?" 

"Let  her  go  before  the  examining  magistrate  of  her 
own  accord.  He  is  bound  to  discharge  her.  Once  free 
and  acquitted  of  any  charge  or  even  suspicion,  she  will 
certainly  be  recognized  as  Cosmo  Mornington's  legal  heir- 
ess and  will  receive  the  hundred  millions." 

"She  will  not  keep  it,  Monsieur  le  President." 

"How  do  you  mean?" 

"Florence  Levasseur  doesn't  want  the  money.  It  ha* 
been  the  cause  of  unspeakably  awful  crimes.  She  hates 
the  very  thought  of  it." 

"What  then?" 

"Cosmo  Mornington's  hundred  millions  will  be  wholly 
devoted  to  making  roads  and  building  schools  in  the 
south  of  Morocco  and  the  northern  Congo." 

"In  the  Mauretanian  Empire  which  you  are  giving  us? " 
said  Valenglay,  laughing.  "By  Jove,  it's  a  fine  work  and 
I  second  it  with  all  my  heart.  An  empire  and  an  imperial 
budget  to  keep  it  up  with!  Upon  my  word,  Don  Luis 


486  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

has  behaved  well  to  his  country,  and  has  handsomely  paid 
the  debts  —  of  Arsene  Lupin!" 

A  month  later  Don  Luis  Perenna  and  Mazeroux  em- 
barked in  the  yacht  which  had  brought  Don  Luis  toFrance. 
Florence  was  with  them.  Before  sailing  they  heard  of 
the  death  of  Jean  Vernocq,  who  had  managed  to  poison 
himself  in  spite  of  all  the  precautions  taken  to  prevent  him. 

On  his  arrival  in  Africa,  Don  Luis  Perenna,  Sultan  of 
Mauretania,  found  his  old  associates  and  accredited  Maze- 
roux to  them  and  to  his  grand  dignitaries.  He  organized 
the  government  to  follow  on  his  abdication  and  precede 
the  annexation  of  the  new  empire  by  France,  and  he  had 
several  secret  interviews  on  the  Moorish  border  with 
General  Leauty,  commanding  the  French  troops,  inter- 
views in  the  course  of  which  they  thought  out  all  the 
measures  to  be  executed  in  succession  so  as  to  lend  to  the 
conquest  of  Morocco  an  appearance  of  facility  which 
would  otherwise  be  difficult  to  explain. 

The  future  was  now  assured.  Soon  the  thin  screen  of 
rebellious  tribes  standing  between  the  French  and  the 
pacified  districts  would  fall  to  pieces,  revealing  an  orderly 
empire,  provided  with  a  regular  constitution,  with  good 
roads,  schools,  and  courts  of  law,  a  flourishing  empire  in 
full  working  order. 

Then,  when  his  his  task  was  done,  Don  Luis  abdicated. 

He  has  now  been  back  for  over  two  years.  Every  one 
remembers  the  stir  caused  by  his  marriage  with  Florence 
Levasseur.  The  controversy  was  renewed;  and  many 
of  the  newspapers  clamoured  for  Arsene  Lupin's  arrest. 
But  what  could  the  authorities  do? 


LUPIN'S  LUPINS  487 

Although  nobody  doubted  who  he  really  was,  although 
the  name  of  Arsene  Lupin  and  the  name  of  Don  Luis 
Perenna  consisted  of  the  same  letters,  and  people  ended  by 
remarking  the  coincidence,  legally  speaking,  Arsene  Lupin 
was  dead  and  Don  Luis  Perenna  was  alive;  and  there  was 
no  possibility  of  bringing  Arsene  Lupin  back  to  life  or  of 
killing  Don  Luis  Perenna. 

He  is  to-day  living  in  the  village  of  Saint-Maclou,  among 
those  charming  valleys  which  run  down  to  the  Oise.  Who 
does  not  know  his  modest  little  pink- washed  house,  with 
its  green  shutters  and  its  garden  filled  with  bright  flowers? 
People  make  up  parties  to  go  there  from  Paris  on  Sundays, 
in  the  hope  of  catching  a  sight,  through  the  elder  hedges, 
of  the  man  who  was  Arsene  Lupin,  or  of  meeting  him  in  the 
village  square. 

He  is  there,  with  his  hair  just  touched  with  gray,  his 
still  youthful  features,  and  a  young  man's  bearing;  and 
Florence  is  there,  too,  with  her  pretty  figure  and  the  halo 
of  fair  hair  around  her  happy  face,  unclouded  by  even  the 
shadow  of  an  unpleasant  recollection. 

Very  often  visitors  come  and  knock  at  the  little  wooden 
gate.  They  are  unfortunate  people  imploring  the  master's 
aid,  victims  of  oppression,  weaklings  who  have  gone  under 
in  the  struggle,  reckless  persons  who  have  been  ruined  by 
their  passions. 

For  all  these  Don  Luis  is  full  of  pity.  He  gives  them 
his  full  attention,  the  help  of  his  far-seeing  advice,  his 
experience,  his  strength,  and  even  his  time,  disappearing 
for  days  and  weeks  to  fight  the  good  fight  once  more. 

And  sometimes  also  it  is  an  emissary  from  the  Prefect's 
office  or  some  subordinate  of  the  police  who  comes  to  sub- 
mit 3,  complex  case  to  his  judgment.  Here  again  Don 


488  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

Luis  applies  the  whole  of  his  wonderful  mind  to  the 
business. 

In  addition  to  this,  in  addition  to  his  old  books  on  ethics 
and  philosophy,  to  which  he  has  returned  with  such 
pleasure,  he  cultivates  his  garden.  He  dotes  on  his  flowers. 
He  is  proud  of  them.  He  takes  prizes  at  the  shows;  and 
the  success  is  still  remembered  of  the  treble  carnation, 
streaked  red  and  yellow,  which  he  exhibited  as  the  "  Arsene 
carnation." 

But  he  works  hardest  at  certain  large  flowers  that 
blossom  in  summer.  During  July  and  the  first  half  of 
August  they  fill  two  thirds  of  his  lawn  and  all  the  borders 
of  his  kitchen-garden.  Beautiful,  decorative  plants,  stand- 
ing erect  like  flag-staffs,  they  proudly  raise  their  spiky 
heads  of  all  colours :  blue,  violet,  mauve,  pink,  white. 

They  are  lupins  and  include  every  variety:  Cruikshank's 
lupin,  the  two-coloured  hipin,  the  scented  lupin,  and  the 
last  to  appear,  Lupin's  lupin.  They  are  all  there,  resplen- 
dent, in  serried  ranks  like  an  army  of  soldiers,  each  striving 
to  outstrip  the  others  and  to  hold  up  the  thickest  and 
gaudiest  spike  to  the  sun.  They  are  all  there;  and,  at  the 
entrance  to  the  walk  that  leads  to  their  motley  beds, 
is  a  streamer  with  this  device,  taken  from  an  exquisite 
sonnet  of  Jose  Maria  de  Heredia: 

"And  in  my  kitchen-garden  lupins  grow." 

You  will  say  that  this  is  a  confession.    But  why  not? 

In  the  evening,  when  a  few  privileged  neighbours  meet 
at  his  house  —  the  justice  of  the  peace,  the  notary,  Major 
Comte  d'Astrignac,  who  has  also  gone  to  live  at  Saint- 
Maclou — Don  Luis  is  not  afraid  to  speak  of  Arsene  Lupin. 


LUPIN'S  LUPINS  489 

"I  used  to  see  a  great  deal  of  him,"  he  says.  "He  was 
not  a  bad  man.  I  will  not  go  so  far  as  to  compare  him 
with  the  Seven  Sages,  or  even  to  hold  him  up  as  an  example 
to  future  generations,  but  still  we  must  judge  him  with  a 
certain  indulgence. 

"He  did  a  vast  amount  of  good  and  a  moderate  amount 
of  harm.  Those  who  suffered  through  him  deserved  what 
they  got;  and  fate  would  have  punished  them  sooner  or 
later  if  he  had  not  forestalled  her.  Between  a  Lupin  who 
selected  his  victims  among  the  ruck  of  wicked  rich  men 
and  some  big  company  promoter  who  deliberately  ruins 
numbers  of  poor  people,  would  you  hesitate  for  a  moment? 
Does  not  Lupin  come  out  best? 

"And,  on  the  other  hand,  what  a  host  of  good  actions! 
What  countless  proofs  of  disinterested  generosity!  A 
burglar?  I  admit  it.  A  swindler?  I  don't  deny  it.  He 
was  all  that.  But  he  was  something  more  than  that. 
And,  while  he  amused  the  gallery  with  his  skill  and  in- 
genuity, he  roused  the  general  enthusiasm  in  other  ways. 

"People  laughed  at  his  practical  jokes,  but  they  loved 
his  pluck,  his  courage,  his  adventurous  spirit,  his  con- 
tempt for  danger,  his  shrewd  insight,  his  unfailing  good 
humour,  his  reckless  energy:  all  qualities  that  stood  out 
at  a  period  when  the  most  active  virtues  of  our  race  had 
reached  their  zenith,  the  period  of  the  motor  car  and  the 
aeroplane.  .  .  . 

"  One  day,"  he  said,  as  a  joke,  "  I  should  like  my  epitaph 
to  read,  'Here  lies  Arsene  Lupin,  adventurer.'  '  That 
was  quite  correct.  He  was  a  master  of  adventure. 

"And,  if  the  spirit  of  adventure  led  him  too  often  to  put 
his  hand  in  other  people's  pockets,  it  also  led  him  to  battle- 
fields where  it  gives  those  who  are  worthy  opportunity  to 


490  THE  TEETH  OF  THE  TIGER 

fight  and  win  titles  of  distinction  which  are  not  withii 
reach  of  all.  It  was  there  that  he  gained  his.  It  is  there 
that  you  should  see  him  at  work,  spending  his  strength 
braving  death,  and  defying  destiny.  And  it  is  because 
of  this  that  you  must  for/give  him,  even  if  he  did  some« 
times  get  the  better  of  a  commissary  of  police  or  steal  th< 
watch  of  an  examining  magistrate.  Let  us  show  some  in- 
dulgence to  our  professors  of  energy." 

And,  nodding  his  head,  Don  Luis  concludes : 
"Then,  you  see,  he  had  another  virtue  which  is  not  tc 
be  despised.      It  is  a  virtue  for  which  we  should  be  grate- 
ful  to  him  in  these  gray  days  of  ours:  he  knew  how  to 
smilel " 


THE   END 


STORIES  OF  RARE  CHARM  BY 

GENE   STRATTON-PORTER 

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MICHAEL  O'HALLORAN,      Illustrated  by  Frances  Rogers. 

Michael  is  a  quick-witted  little  Irish  newsboy,  living  in  Northern 
Indiana.     He  adopts  a  deserted  little  girl,  a  cripple.     He  also  as- 
sumes the  responsibility  of  leading  the  entire  rural  community  up- 
ward and  onward, 
LADDIE.      Illustrated  by  Herman  Pfeifer. 

This  is  a  bright,  cheery  tale  with  the  scenes  laid  in  Indiana.  The 
*tory  is  told  by  Little  Sister,  the  youngest  member  of  a  large  family, 
but  it  is  concerned  not  so  much  with  childish  doings  as  with  the  love 
affairs  of  older  members  of  the  family.  Chief  among  them  is  that 
of  Laddie  and  the  Princess,  an  English  girl  who  has  come  to  live  in 
the  neighborhood  and  about  whose  family  there  hangs  a  myatery. 
THE  HARVESTER.  Illustrated  by  W.  L.  Jacobs. 

"  The  Harvester, "  is  a  man  of  the  woods  and  fields,  and  if  the 
book  had  nothing  in  it  but  the  splendid  figure  of  this  man  it  would 
be  notable.     But  when  the  Girl  comes  to  his  "  Medicine  Woods," 
there  begins  a  romance  of  the  rarest  idyllic  quality. 
FRECKLES.      Illustrated. 

Freckles  is  a  nameless  waif  when  the  tale  opens,  but  the  way  in 
which  he  takes  hold  of  life  ;  the  nature  friendships  he  forms  in  the 
great  Limberlost  Swamp  ;  the  manner  in  which  everyone  who  meets 
him  succumbs  to  the  charm  of  his  engaging  personality  ;  and  his 
love-story  with  "  The  Angel "  are  full  of  real  sentiment, 
A  GIRL  OF  THE  LIMBERLOST.  Illustrated. 

The  story  of  a  girl  of  the  Michigan  woods ;  a  buoyant,  loveable 
type  of  the  self-reliant  American.  Her  philosophy  is  one  of  love  and 
kindness  towards  all  things  ;  her  hope  is  never  dimmed.  And  by 
the  sheer  beauty  of  her  soul,  and  the  purity  of  her  vision,  she  wins  from 
barren  and  unpromising  surroundings  those  rewards  of  high  courage. 
AT  THE  FOOT  OF  THE  RAINBOW.  Illustrations  in  colors. 

The  scene  of  this  charming  love  story  is  laid  in  Central  Indiana, 
The   story '  is  one  of  devoted  friendship,  and  tender  self-sacrificing 
love.     The  novel  is  brimful  of  the  most  beautiful  word  painting  of 
nature,  and  its  pathos  and  tender  sentiment  will  endear  it  to  all. 
THE  SONG  OF  THE  CARDINAL.      Profusely  illustrated. 

A  love  ideal  of  the  Cardinal  bird  and  his  mate,  told  with  delicacy 
and  humor. 

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KATHLEEN  NORRIS*   STORIES 

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MOTHER.    Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

This  book  has  a  fairy-story  touch,  counterbalanced  by 
the  sturdy  reality  of  struggle,  sacrifice,  and  resulting  peace 
and  power  of  a  mother's  experiences.  """ 

SATURDAY'S  CHILD." 
Frontispiece  by  F.  Grahanf  Cootes. 

Out  on  the  Pacific  coast  a  normal  girl,  obscure  and  Iqvely, 
makes  _  a  quest  for  happiness.  She  passes  through  three 
stages — poverty,  wealth  and  service — and  works  out  a 
creditable  salvation. 

THE  RICH  MRS.  BURGOYNE. 

Illustrated  by  Lucius  H.  Hitchcock. 

The  story  of  a  sensible  woman  who|keeps  within  her 
means,  refuses  to  be  swamped  by  social  engagements,  lives 
a  normal  human  life  of  varied  interests,  and  has  her  own 
romance. 

THE  8TORY  OF  JULIATAGE. 

Frontispiece  by  Allan  Gilbert. 

How  Julia  Page,  reared  in  rather  unpromising  surround- 
ings, lifted  herself  through  sheer  determination  to  a  higher 
plane  of  life. 

THE  HEART  OF  RACHAEL. 

Frontispiece  by  Charles  E.  Chambers. 

Rachael  is  called  upon  to  solve  many  problems,  and  m 
working  out  these,  there  is  shown  the  beauty  and  strength 
of  soul  of  one  of  fiction's  most  appealing  characters. 

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BOOTH     TARKINGTON'S 
NOVELS 

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SEVENTEEN.    Illustrated  by  Arthur  William  Brown. 

No  one  out  the  creator  of  Penrod  could  have  portrayed 
the  immortal  young  people  of  this  story.  Its  humor  is  irre- 
sistible and  reminiscent  of  the  time  when  the  reader  was 
Seventeen. 

PENROD.    Illustrated  by  Gordon  Grant. 

This  is  a  picture  of  'a  boy's  heart,  full  of  the  lovable,  hu- 
morous, tragic  things  which  are  locked  secrets  to  most  older 
folks.  It  is  a  finished,  exquisite  work. 

PENROD  AND  SAM.  Illustrated  by  Worth  Brehm. 

Like  "  Penrod "  and  "  Seventeen,"  this  book  contains 
some  remarkable  phases  of  real  boyhood  and  some  of  the  best 
stories  of  juvenile  prankishness  that  have  ever  been  written. 

THE  TURMOIL.    Illustrated  by  G.  E.  Chambers. 

Bibbs  Sheridan  is  a  dreamy,  imaginative  youth,  who  re- 
volts against  his  father's  plans  for  him  to  be  a  servitor  of 
big  business.  The  love^of  a  fine  girl  turns  Bibb's  life  from 
failure  to  success. 

THE  GENTLEMAN  FROM  INDIANA.    Frontispiece. 

A  story  of  love  and  politics, — more  especially  a  picture  of 
a  country  editor's  lif  e  in  Indiana,  but  the  charm  of  the  book 
lies  in  the  love  interest. 

THE  FLIRT.    Illustrated  by  Clarence  F.  Underwood. 

The  "  Flirt,"  the  younger  of  two  sisters,  breaks  one  girl's 
engagement,  drives  one  man  to  suicide,  causes  the  murder 
of  another,  leads  another  to  lose  his  fortune,  and  in  the  end 
marries  a  stupid  and  unpromising  suitor,  leaving  the  really 
worthy  one  to  marry  her  sister. 

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THE  NOVELS  OF 

STEWARD    EDWARD    WHITE 

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THE  BLAZED  TRAIL.     Illustrated  by  Thomas  Fogarty. 

,    A  wholesome  story  with  gleams  of  humor,  telling  of  a  young  maa 

tvho  blazed  his  way  to  fortune  through  the  heart  of  the  Michigan 

Dines. 

THE  CALL  OF  THE  NORTH.     Ills,  with  Scenes  from  the  Play. 

The  story  centers  about  a  Hudson  Bay  trading  post,  known  as 
*'The  Conjuror's  House"  (the  original  title  of  the  book.) 
THE  RIVERMAN,     Ills,  by  N.  C.  Wyeth  and  C.  F.  Underwood. 

The  story  of  a  man's  fight  against  a  river  and  of  a  struggle  be- 
tween honesty  and  grit  on  the  one  side,  and  dishonesty  and  shrewd-, 
Cess  on  the  other.  j 

•RULES  OF  THE  GAME.     Illustrated  by  Lejaren  A.  Hiller.          , 

The  romance  of  the  son  of  "  The  Riverman."    The  young  college 
fcero  goes  into  the  lumber  camp,  is  antagonized  by  "  graft,"  and 
Comes  into  the  romance  of  his  life. 
GOLD.     Illustrated  by  Thomas  Fogarty. 

The  gold  fever  of  '49  is  pictured  with  vividness.    A  part  of  the 
Btory  is  laid  in  Panama,  the  route  taken  by  the  gold-seekers. 
THE  FOREST.     Illustrated  by  Thomas  Fogarty. 

The  book  tells  of  the  canoe  trip  of  the  author  and  his  companion 
Into  the  great  woods.     Much  information  about  camping  and  out* 
door  life.    A  splendid  treatise  on  woodcraft. 
THE  MOUNTAINS.      Illustrated  by  Fernand  Lungren.' 

An  account  of  the  adventures  of  a  five  months'  camping  trip  fa 
the  Sierras  of  California.     The  author  has  followed  a  true  sequence 
Of  events. 
THE  CABIN.     Illustrated  with  photographs  by  the  author. 

A  chronicle  of  the  building  of  a  cabin  home  in  a  forest-girdled 
meadow  of  the  Sierras.    Full  of  nature  and  woodcraft,  and  the 
ehrewd  philosophy  of  "California  John." 
THE  GRAY  DAWN.      Illustrated  by  Thomas  Fogarty. 

This  book  tells  of  the  period  shortly  after  the  first  mad  rush  for 
gold  in  California.  A  young  lawyer  and  his  wife,  initiated  into  the 
gay  life  of  San  Francisco,  find  their  ways  parted  through  his  down- 
ward course,  but  succeeding  events  bring  the  "  gray  dawn  of  better 
things  "  for  both  of  them. 

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SEWELL    FORD'S  STORIES 

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SHORTY  McCABE.      Illustrated  by  Francis  Vaux  Wilson. 

A  very  humorous  story,    The  hero,  an  independent  and  vigorous 
thinker,  sees  life,  and  tells  about  it  in  a  very  unconventional  way. 
SIDE-STEPPING  WITH  SHORTY. 
Illustrated  by  Francis  Vaux  Wilson. 

Twenty  skits,    presenting  people  with  their   foibles,     Sympathy 
with  human  nature  and  an  abounding  sense  of  humor  are  the  requi- 
sites for  "side-stepping  with  Shorty." 
SHORTY  McCABE  ON  THE  JOB. 
Illustrated  by  Francis  Vaux  Wilson. 

Shorty  McCabe  reappears  with  his  figures  of  speech  revamped 
right  up  to   the   minute.      He  aids  in    the  right  distribution  of  a 
"conscience  fund,"    and   gives  joy  to   all   concerned. 
SHORTY  McCABE'S  ODD  NUMBERS, 
Illustrated  by  Francis  Vaux  Wilson. 

These  further  chronicles  of  Shorty  McCabe  tell  of  his  studio  for 
physical  culture,  and  of  his  experiences  both  on  the  East  side  and  at 
swell  yachting  parties. 
TORCHY.      Illus.  by  Geo.  Biehm  and  Jas.  Montgomery  Flagg. 

A   red-headed  office  boy,  overflowing   with  wit  and  wisdom  pe- 
culiar to  the  youths  reared  on  the  sidewalks  of  New  York,  tells  the 
story  of  his  experiences. 
TRYING  OUT  TORCHY.     Illustrated  by  F.  Foster  Lincoln. 

Torchy   is  just  as  deliriously  funny  In  these  stories  as  he  was  in 
the  previous  book. 

ON  WITH  TORCHY.      Illustrated  by  F.  Foster  Lincoln/ 

Torchy  falls  desperately  in  love  with  "the  only  girl   that  ever 

was,"   but  that  young  society  woman's  aunt  tries  to  keep  the  young 

people  apart,  which  brings  about  many  hilariously  funny  situations. 

TORCHY,  PRIVATE  SEC.      Illustrated  by  F.  Foster  Lincoln. 
Torchy  rises  from  the  position  of  office  boy  to  that  of  secretary 

for  the  Corrugated  Iron  Company.    The  story  is  full  of  humor  and 

infectious  American  slang. 

WILT  THOU  TORCHY.      Illus.  by  F.  Snapp  and  A.  W.  Brown. 
Torchy  goes  on  a  treasure  search  expedition  to  the  Florida  West 

Coast,  in  company  with  a  group  of  friends  of  the  Corrugated  Trust 

and  with  his  friend's  aunt,  on  which  trip  Torchy  wins  the  aunt's 

permission  to  place  an  engagement  ring  on  Vee's  finger. 

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NOVELS   OF   SOUTHERN    LIFE 

By  THOMAS  DIXON,  JR. 

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THE  LEOPARD'S  SPOTS;        A    Story   of   the    White   Man'* 
Burden,  1865-1900.    With  illustrations  by  C.  D.  Williams. 

A  tale  of  the  South  about  the  dramatic  events  of  Destruction, 
Reconstruction  and  Upbuilding.  The  work  is  able  and  eloquent  and 
the  verifiable  events  of  history  are  followed  closely  in  the  develop* 
ment  of  a  story  full  of  struggle. 

THE  CLANSMAN.    With  illustrations  by  Arthur  I.  Keller. 

While  not  connected  with  it  in  any  way,  this  is  a  companion  vol- 
nme  to  the  author's  "epoch-making"  story  The  Leopard's  Spots.  It 
is  a  novel  with  a  great  deal  to  it,  and  which  very  properly  is  going  to 
interest  many  thousands  of  readers,  *  *  *  It  is,  first  of  an,  a  forceful, 
dramatic,  absorbing  love  story,  with  a  sequence  of  events  so  surprising 
that  one  is  prepared  for  the  fact  that  much  of  it  is  founded  on  actual 
happenings;  but  Mr.  Dixon  has,  as  before,  a  deeper  purpose — he  has 
aimed  to  show  that  the  original  formers  of  the  Kn  Klux  Klan  were 
modern  knights  errant  taking  the  only  means  at  hand  to  right 
intolerable  wrongs. 

THE    TRAITOR.    A  Story  of  the  Fall  of  the  Invi^We  Empire. 
Illustrations  by  C.  D.  Williams. 

The  third  and  last  book  in  this  remarkable  trilogy  of  novels  relat. 
Ing  to  Southern  Reconstruction.  It  is  a  thrilling  story  of  love,  adr 
venture,  treason,  and  the  United  States  Secret  Service  dealing  witlj 
the  decline  and  fall  of  the  Ku  Klux  Klan. 

COMRADES.    Illustrations  by  C.  D.  Williams. 

A  novel  dealing  with  I  he  establishment  of  a  Socialistic  Colony 
upon  a  deserted  island  off  the  coast  of  California.  The  way  of  dis. 
illusionment  is  the  course  over  which  Mr.  Dixon  conducts  the  reader. 

THE  ONE  WOMAN.    A  Story  of  Modern  Utopia. 

A  love  story  and  character  study  of  three  strong  men  and  two  fas- 
cinating women.  In  swift,  unified,  and  dramatic  action,  we  see  So* 
cialism  a  deadly  force,  in  the  hour  of  the  eclipse  of  Faith,  destroying 
the  home  life  and  weakening  the  fiber  of  Anglo  Saxon  manhood. 

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CHARMING  BOOKS  FOR  GIRLS 

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WHEN  FATTY  WENT  TO  COLLEGE.   By  Jean  Webster. 
Illustrated  by  C.  D.  Williams. 

One  of  the  best  stories  of  life  in  a  girl's  college  that  has  ever  been 
written.  It  is  bright,  -whimsical  and  entertaining,  lifelike,  laughable 
and  thoroughly  human. 

JUST   PATTY.    By  Jean  Websteri) 
Illustrated  by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

Patty  is  full  of  the  joy  of  living,  fun-loving,  given  to  ingenious 
mischief  for  its  own  sake,  with  a  disregard  for  pretty  convention  which 
is  an  unfailing  source  of  joy  to  her  fellows. 

THE  POOR  LITTLE  RICH  GIRL.    By  Eleanor  Gates.) 
With  four  full  page  illustrations. 

This  story  relates  the  experience  of  one  of  those  unfortunate  chil- 
dren whose  early  days  are  passed  in  the  companionship  of  a  governess, 
seldom  seeing  either  parent,  and  famishing  for  natural  love  and  tender- 
ness. A  charming  play  as  dramatized  by  the  author. 

REBECCA  OF  SUNNYBROOK   FARM,  ^  By  Kate  Douglas 
Wiggin. 

One  of  the  most  beautiful  studies  of  childhood— Rebecca's  artistic, 
unusual  and  quaintly  charming  qualities  standout  midst  a  circle  of 
austere  New  Englanders.  The  stage  version  is  making  a  phenominal 
dramatic  record. 

NEW  CHRONICLES  OF  REBECCA,   By  Kate  Douglas  Wiggin. 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

Additional  episodes  in  the  girlhood  of  this  delightful  heroine  that 
carry  Rebecca  through  various  stages  to  her  eighteenth  birthday. 

REBECCA  afARY,    By  Annie  Hamilton  DonnelLj 
Illustrated  by  Elizabeth  Shippen  Green. 

This  author  possesses  the  rare  gift  of  portraying  all  the  grotesque 
little  joys  and  sorrows  and  scruples  of  this  very  small  girl  with  a  pa- 
thos that  is  peculiarly  genuine  and  appealing. 

EMMY  LOU;    Her  Book  and  Heart,    By  George  Madden  Martin. 
Illustrated  by  Charles  Louis  Ilinton. 

Emmy  Lou  is  irresistibly  lovable,  because  she  is  so  absolutely  reat 
She  is  just  a  bewitchingly  innocent,  hugable  little  maid.  The  book  is 
•wonderfully  human. 

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THE  INSIDE  OF  THE  CUP.    Illustrated  by  Howard  Giles. 

The  Reverend  John  Hodder  is  called  to  a  fashionable  church  in 
a  middle- western  city.  He  knows  little  of  modern  problems  and  in 
his  theology  is  as  orthodox  as  the  rich  men  who  control  his  church 
could  desire.  But  the  facts  of  modern  life  are  thrust  upon  him;  an 
awakening  follows  and  in  the  end  he  works  out  a  solution. 
A  FAR  COUNTRY.  Illustrated  by  Herman  Pfeifer. 

This  novel  is  concerned  with  big  problems  of  the  day.    As  The 
Inside  of  the  Cup  gets  down  to  the  essentials  in  its  discussion  of  re- 
ligion, so  A  Far  Country  deals  in  a  story  that  is  intense  and  dra- 
matic, with  other  vital  issues  confronting  the  twentieth  century. 
A  MODERN  CHRONICLE.    Illustrated  by  J.  H.  Gardner  Soper. 

This,  Mr.   Churchill's  first  great  presentation  of  the  Eternal 
Feminine,  is  throughout  a  profound  study  of  a  fascinating  young 
American  woman.    It  is  frankly  a  modern  love  story. 
MR.  CREWE'S  CAREER.     Illus.  by  A.  I.  Keller  and  Kinneys. 

A  new  England  state  is  under  the  political  domination  of  a  rail- 
way and  Mr.  Crewe,  a  millionaire,  seizes  a  moment  when  the  cause 
of  the  people  is  being  espoused  by  an  ardent  young  attorney,  to  fur- 
ther his  own  interest  in  a  political  way.  The  daughter  of  the  rail- 
way president  plays  no  small  part  in  the  situation. 
THE  CROSSING.  Illustrated  by  S.  Adamson  and  L.  Baylis. 

Describing  the  battle  of  Fort  Moultrie,  the  blazing  of  the  Ken- 
tucky wilderness,  the  expedition  of  Clark  and  his  handful  of  follow- 
ers in  Illinois,  the  beginning  of    civilization  along  the  Ohio  and 
Mississippi,  and  the  treasonable  schemes  against  Washington. 
CONISTON.    Illustrated  by  Florence  Scovel  Shinn. 

A  deft  blending  of  love  and  politics.    A  New  Englander  is  the 
hero,  a  crude  man  who  rose  to  political  prominence  by  his  own  pow- 
ers, and  then  surrendered  all  for  the  love  of  a  woman. 
THE  CELEBRITY.    An  episode. 

An  inimitable  bit  of  comedy  describing  an  interchange  of  per- 
sonalities between  a  celebrated  author  and  a  bicycle  salesman.    It 
is  the  purest,  keenest  fun — and  is  American  to  the  core. 
THE  CRISIS.    Illustrated  with  scenes  from  the  Photo-Play. 

A  book  that  presents  the  great  crisis  in  our  national  life  with 
splendid  power  and  with  a  sympathy,  a  sincerity,  and  a  patriotism 
that  are  inspiring. 
RICHARD  CARVEL.    Illustrated  by  Malcolm  Frazer. 

An  historical  novel  which  gives  a  real  and  vivid  picture  of  Co- 
lonial times,  and  is  good,  clean,  spirited  reading  in  all  its  phases  and 

interesting  throughout. 

t 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,      PUBLISHERS,     NEW  YORK 


JOHN  FOX,  JR'S. 

STORIES  OF  THE  KENTUCKY  MOUNTAINS 

May  &8  had  w&erem  books  are  sold.      Ask  for  Grosset  and  Dmlap's  list 

THE  TRAIL   OF  THE    LONESOME  PINE. 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  "lonesome  pine"  from  which  th* 
story  takes  its  name  was  a  tall  tree  that 
stood  in  solitary  splendor  on  a  mountain 
top.  The  fame  of  the  pine  lured  a  young 
engineer  through  Kentucky  to  catch  the 
trail,  and  when  he  finally  climbed  to  its 
shelter  he  found  not  only  the  pine  but  the 
footprints  cfa  girl.  And  the  girl  proved 
to  be  lovely,  piquant,  and  the  trail  of 
these  girlish  foot-prints  led  the  young 
engineer  a  madder  chase  than  "the  trail 
of  the  lonesome  pine." 

THE  LITTLE  SHEPHERD  OF  KINGDOM  COME 
Illustrated  by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

This  is  a  story  of  Kentucky,  in  a  settlement  known  as  "King- 
dom Come."  It  is  a  life  rude,  semi-barbarous;  but  natural 
and  honest,  from  which  often  springs  the  flower  of  civilization. 

M  Chad."  the  "little  shepherd"  did  not  know  who  he  was  nor 
whence  he  came — he  had  just  wandered  from  door  to  door  since 
early  childhood,  seeking  shelter  with  kindly  mountaineers  who 
gladly  fathered  and  mothered  this  waif  about  whom  there  was 
such  a  mystery — a  charming  waif,  by  the  way,  who  could  play 
the  banjo  better  that  anyone  else  in  the  mountains, 

A  KNIGHT  OF  THE    CUMBERLAND. 
Illustrated   by  F.  C.  Yohn. 

The  scenes  are  laid  along  the  waters  of  the  Cumberland* 
the  lair  of  moonshiner  and  feudsman.  The  knight  is  a  moon- 
shiner's son,  and  the  heroine  a  beautiful  girl  perversely  chris- 
tened "The  Blight."  Two  impetuous  young  Southerners'  fall 
under  the  spell  »f  "The  Blight's  "  charms  and  she  learns  what 
a  large  part  jealousy  and  pistols  have  in  the  love  making  of  the 
mountaineers. 

Included  in  this  volume  is  "  Hell  f  er-Sartain"  and  other 
stories,  some  of  Mr.  Fox's  most  entertaining  Cumberland  valley 
jiarratives. 

AsJt  for  comfrleta  free  list  of  G.  &  D.  Popular  Copyrighted  Fiction 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,  526  WEST  26th  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


B.  M.  BOWER'S  NOVELS 

May  be  had  wherever  books  are  sold.     Ask  for  Grosset  and  Dunlap's  list 

CHIP  OF  THE  FLYING  U.  Wherein  the  love  affairs  of  Chip  and 
Delia  Whitman  are  charmingly  and  humorously  told. 

THE  HAPPY  FAMILY.  A  lively  and  amusing  story,  dealing  with 
the  adventures  of  eighteen  jovial,  big  hearted  Montana  cowboys. 

HER  PRAIRIE  KNIGHT.  Describing  a  gay  party  of  Easterners 
who  exchange  a  cottage  at  Newport  for  a  Montana  ranch-house. 

THE  RANGE  DWELLERS.  Spirited  action,  a  range  feud  be' 
two  families,  and  a  Romeo  and  Juliet  courtship  make  this  a  bright, 
jolly  story. 

THE  LURE  OF  THE  DIM  TRAILS.  A  vivid  portrayal  of  the 
experience  of  an  Eastern  author  among  the  cowboys. 

THE  LONESOME  TRAIL.  A  little  branch  of  aage  brush  and  the 
recollection  of  a  pair  of  large  brown  eyes  upset  "Weary"  David- 
son's plans. 

THE  LONG  SHADOW.  A  vigorous  Western  story,  sparkling  with 
the  free  outdoor  life  of  a  mountain  ranch.  It  is  a  fine  love  story. 

GOOD  INDIAN.     A  stirring  romance  of  life  on  an  Idaho  ranch. 

FLYING  U  RANCH.     Another  delightful  story  about  Chip  and 

his  pals. 
THE  FLYING  ITS  LAST  STAND.     An  amusing  account  of  Chip 

and  the  other  boys  opposing  a  party  of  school  teachers. 
THE  UPHILL  CLIMB.     A  story  of  a  mountain  ranch  and  of  a 

man's  hard  fight  on  the  uphill  road  to  manliness. 
THE  PHANTOM  HERD.     The  title  of  a  moving-picture  staged  in 

New  Mexico  by  the  "Flying  U  "  boys. 
THE  HERITAGE  OF  THE  SIOUX.     The  "  Flying  U  "  boys  stage 

a  fake  bank  robbery  for  film  purposes  which  precedes  a  real  one 

for  lust  of  gold. 
THE  GRINGOS.     A  story  of  love  and  adventure  on  a  ranch  in 

California. 

STARR  OF  THE  DESERT.     A  New  Mexico  ranch  story  of  mys- 
tery and  adventure. 
THE  LOOKOUT  MAN.     A  Northern  California  story  full  of  action , 

excitement  and  love. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP,        PUBLISHERS,        NEW  YORK 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 


r»IKT«O  IN  U.I    A. 


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